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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 2450 | 2016-06-23 08:43:14 | 79.10 | 95% |
| 2396 | 2016-06-20 07:52:49 | 77.20 | 95% |
| 2276 | 2016-06-14 06:31:26 | 75.21 | 94% |
| 1758 | 2016-05-24 11:54:02 | 68.11 | 92% |
| 1098 | 2016-05-07 09:13:22 | 68.25 | 94% |
| 650 | 2016-04-25 08:20:51 | 62.00 | 95% |
| 484 | 2016-04-14 08:26:06 | 66.34 | 94% |
| 54 | 2016-04-02 10:05:45 | 57.84 | 88% |