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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 2423 | 2016-12-11 06:04:02 | 92.68 | 94% |
| 2249 | 2016-11-24 03:46:10 | 102.20 | 96% |
| 1797 | 2016-11-08 06:25:45 | 97.70 | 96% |
| 1714 | 2016-11-05 01:39:51 | 85.10 | 94% |
| 1065 | 2016-10-26 04:00:30 | 87.37 | 95% |
| 437 | 2016-10-18 21:20:43 | 86.12 | 96% |