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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 1106 | 2016-01-14 04:12:29 | 83.89 | 92% |
| 838 | 2015-05-14 19:55:11 | 89.07 | 94% |
| 832 | 2015-05-14 19:48:38 | 90.04 | 97% |
| 760 | 2015-05-14 10:02:35 | 86.18 | 94% |
| 121 | 2015-05-09 01:13:35 | 78.56 | 94% |