I was stealing saltshakers again. Ten, sometimes twelve a night, shoving them in my pockets, hiding them up my sleeves, smuggling them out of bars and diners and anywhere else I could find them. In the morning, wherever I woke up, I was always covered in salt. I was cured meat. I had become beef jerky. Even as a small, small child, I knew it would one day come to this.
| Game | Time | WPM | Accuracy |
|---|---|---|---|
| 21385 | 2015-11-12 11:46:42 | 131.27 | 93% |
| 20758 | 2015-11-06 10:27:55 | 132.71 | 96% |
| 18674 | 2015-08-26 17:51:15 | 144.94 | 98% |
| 13952 | 2015-07-07 14:09:35 | 125.46 | 90% |
| 6983 | 2015-04-04 07:05:02 | 128.88 | 93% |
| 6950 | 2015-04-04 06:14:41 | 120.58 | 93% |