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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 1282 | 2015-06-30 23:58:48 | 121.47 | 97% |
| 573 | 2015-04-16 17:41:17 | 99.22 | 95% |
| 426 | 2015-04-10 06:50:03 | 107.10 | 98% |
| 324 | 2015-04-04 20:43:59 | 102.21 | 96% |