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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 6291 | 2016-06-02 19:29:17 | 72.71 | 90% |
| 4621 | 2016-04-13 20:15:39 | 69.21 | 90% |
| 3944 | 2015-11-22 02:46:45 | 73.80 | 89% |
| 3227 | 2015-08-08 13:31:53 | 66.68 | 90% |
| 2460 | 2015-07-12 20:28:00 | 65.48 | 90% |
| 2299 | 2015-06-30 17:22:58 | 59.13 | 86% |