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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 1342 | 2017-03-14 03:50:56 | 62.20 | 93% |
| 1139 | 2017-02-27 08:05:32 | 67.03 | 93% |
| 922 | 2016-04-21 03:49:49 | 59.84 | 93% |
| 873 | 2016-04-10 04:43:34 | 58.91 | 92% |
| 773 | 2016-04-02 19:37:24 | 63.39 | 96% |
| 155 | 2015-08-29 17:30:38 | 54.80 | 94% |