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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 1898 | 2015-10-14 21:46:12 | 59.71 | 90% |
| 1862 | 2015-10-12 17:54:51 | 63.09 | 93% |
| 1824 | 2015-10-10 00:39:12 | 55.77 | 87% |
| 1781 | 2015-10-09 23:43:53 | 61.83 | 91% |
| 1415 | 2015-09-23 20:49:24 | 53.41 | 89% |
| 1197 | 2015-09-05 18:12:23 | 54.41 | 89% |