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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 2341 | 2015-07-02 00:17:44 | 92.33 | 98% |
| 2160 | 2015-06-12 19:26:11 | 88.84 | 99% |
| 2150 | 2015-06-10 22:09:05 | 83.38 | 97% |
| 2147 | 2015-06-10 18:41:38 | 87.92 | 96% |
| 1303 | 2015-04-03 20:16:50 | 86.50 | 94% |