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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 4336 | 2015-08-08 05:04:27 | 86.06 | 98% |
| 4239 | 2015-07-29 01:28:20 | 80.34 | 94% |
| 3639 | 2015-05-28 09:52:30 | 82.81 | 95% |
| 3490 | 2015-04-15 10:20:46 | 81.29 | 96% |