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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 3080 | 2016-06-03 03:48:49 | 131.68 | 98% |
| 3027 | 2016-06-02 04:20:36 | 118.14 | 96% |
| 2600 | 2016-04-17 16:17:50 | 125.17 | 98% |
| 1942 | 2016-03-10 00:19:19 | 121.02 | 96% |
| 1770 | 2016-03-04 15:42:44 | 113.39 | 96% |