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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 2134 | 2016-05-02 21:37:55 | 53.03 | 96% |
| 1390 | 2016-03-03 23:06:35 | 47.42 | 92% |
| 653 | 2016-02-27 19:03:06 | 53.70 | 97% |
| 176 | 2016-02-14 04:58:50 | 52.64 | 95% |
| 171 | 2016-02-14 04:51:05 | 50.37 | 93% |