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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 4786 | 2017-06-03 14:51:45 | 70.00 | 93% |
| 2845 | 2017-04-28 11:51:09 | 75.13 | 93% |
| 1608 | 2017-03-17 03:43:10 | 63.58 | 96% |
| 843 | 2017-03-11 07:26:00 | 63.89 | 96% |
| 546 | 2017-03-06 16:25:04 | 64.10 | 94% |