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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 3205 | 2015-09-15 15:23:12 | 82.11 | 95% |
| 3193 | 2015-09-11 19:44:49 | 86.62 | 97% |
| 2892 | 2015-05-09 06:16:36 | 89.03 | 97% |
| 2757 | 2015-04-28 15:20:21 | 84.44 | 98% |
| 2634 | 2015-04-25 06:23:29 | 76.05 | 91% |