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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 1598 | 2015-06-02 06:42:21 | 82.22 | 93% |
| 1356 | 2015-05-30 10:45:09 | 80.54 | 92% |
| 1294 | 2015-05-30 04:50:13 | 97.28 | 96% |
| 730 | 2015-05-21 02:21:03 | 75.52 | 93% |
| 687 | 2015-05-20 10:23:18 | 73.86 | 92% |