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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 1513 | 2015-08-22 01:11:26 | 87.04 | 98% |
| 758 | 2015-06-23 21:24:43 | 78.71 | 97% |
| 725 | 2015-06-23 18:48:23 | 71.71 | 94% |
| 431 | 2015-06-01 18:41:51 | 64.92 | 90% |
| 428 | 2015-06-01 18:37:58 | 71.70 | 95% |
| 159 | 2015-05-05 22:16:23 | 63.16 | 92% |