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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 1962 | 2016-02-15 22:01:12 | 53.06 | 90% |
| 1773 | 2016-02-11 21:20:06 | 59.11 | 95% |
| 1498 | 2016-02-08 13:14:12 | 48.11 | 86% |
| 1358 | 2016-02-05 23:04:01 | 54.16 | 93% |
| 1307 | 2016-02-05 22:00:27 | 52.36 | 93% |