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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 1400 | 2016-12-24 16:38:44 | 98.95 | 96% |
| 1066 | 2016-11-16 02:08:00 | 89.05 | 93% |
| 909 | 2016-11-08 01:56:38 | 89.08 | 94% |
| 511 | 2016-10-18 00:57:20 | 90.85 | 93% |