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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 4879 | 2016-08-28 14:53:40 | 142.80 | 95% |
| 4832 | 2016-08-28 14:18:39 | 150.31 | 96% |
| 4375 | 2016-08-21 11:51:34 | 169.10 | 100% |
| 4065 | 2016-08-08 15:40:28 | 148.27 | 98% |
| 3563 | 2016-07-25 11:57:07 | 134.83 | 97% |
| 2911 | 2015-07-31 17:01:21 | 148.09 | 96% |