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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 2339 | 2016-12-18 04:25:52 | 94.18 | 93% |
| 2051 | 2016-12-01 20:16:20 | 78.65 | 87% |
| 1450 | 2016-10-31 00:45:02 | 88.30 | 94% |
| 1368 | 2016-10-27 19:08:10 | 91.60 | 93% |
| 1307 | 2016-10-26 17:59:57 | 95.04 | 96% |
| 791 | 2016-09-11 21:40:04 | 85.66 | 95% |