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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 2333 | 2017-03-03 20:45:03 | 103.68 | 98% |
| 2071 | 2016-08-11 20:45:30 | 109.10 | 98% |
| 1967 | 2016-07-18 20:18:57 | 113.43 | 99% |
| 922 | 2016-03-01 21:31:14 | 103.44 | 98% |
| 271 | 2016-01-29 16:41:14 | 107.85 | 100% |