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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 469 | 2016-05-22 02:12:49 | 148.09 | 98% |
| 454 | 2016-05-21 17:31:38 | 136.13 | 94% |
| 253 | 2016-05-06 01:18:25 | 133.58 | 95% |
| 162 | 2016-05-01 23:54:10 | 121.18 | 94% |
| 139 | 2016-05-01 04:01:45 | 131.39 | 97% |
| 37 | 2016-04-27 00:31:23 | 136.84 | 99% |