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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 15689 | 2019-03-18 21:52:35 | 127.44 | 98% |
| 12666 | 2018-09-09 02:45:35 | 109.72 | 98% |
| 7172 | 2017-08-29 00:23:18 | 107.49 | 99% |
| 4915 | 2017-05-05 21:54:34 | 101.38 | 97% |
| 4154 | 2017-02-24 15:07:03 | 99.73 | 97% |
| 1790 | 2017-01-15 03:54:01 | 91.46 | 97% |