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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 3285 | 2016-08-18 06:30:44 | 69.76 | 89% |
| 874 | 2016-07-16 07:00:03 | 62.99 | 84% |
| 513 | 2016-07-11 07:27:22 | 58.99 | 79% |
| 284 | 2016-07-08 10:25:18 | 61.81 | 78% |
| 90 | 2016-07-04 10:40:38 | 57.35 | 77% |