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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 3300 | 2015-11-30 14:10:13 | 88.32 | 95% |
| 3005 | 2015-09-08 13:19:22 | 93.77 | 98% |
| 2244 | 2015-06-29 13:32:37 | 98.01 | 98% |
| 2016 | 2015-04-26 18:48:03 | 94.88 | 96% |