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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 13273 | 2017-08-09 15:24:15 | 113.92 | 98% |
| 12138 | 2017-07-25 17:46:58 | 111.83 | 98% |
| 6494 | 2017-05-17 20:58:24 | 117.12 | 96% |
| 3129 | 2017-04-17 16:19:53 | 105.96 | 94% |
| 2622 | 2017-04-13 17:20:36 | 98.00 | 94% |