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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 898 | 2015-05-04 23:33:20 | 104.23 | 95% |
| 876 | 2015-05-04 16:55:39 | 86.42 | 89% |
| 766 | 2015-05-04 03:33:08 | 98.72 | 91% |
| 368 | 2015-04-27 18:17:04 | 104.64 | 96% |
| 315 | 2015-04-25 16:35:50 | 97.87 | 94% |