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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 1446 | 2017-01-01 09:37:30 | 59.75 | 93% |
| 1325 | 2016-12-28 07:53:52 | 57.62 | 91% |
| 963 | 2016-12-09 17:20:05 | 64.63 | 95% |
| 869 | 2016-12-08 03:29:08 | 61.79 | 96% |
| 502 | 2016-11-29 08:01:35 | 55.17 | 93% |
| 238 | 2016-11-05 06:00:47 | 53.12 | 93% |
| 91 | 2016-11-02 07:22:45 | 51.70 | 96% |