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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 4741 | 2017-06-02 16:12:12 | 66.94 | 97% |
| 4740 | 2017-06-02 16:10:47 | 57.52 | 96% |
| 3455 | 2016-11-03 19:04:41 | 55.68 | 93% |
| 2482 | 2016-08-27 18:52:35 | 57.78 | 95% |
| 2311 | 2016-08-17 18:59:34 | 57.52 | 97% |
| 2161 | 2016-08-12 16:00:36 | 59.87 | 96% |
| 1241 | 2016-07-31 00:43:28 | 51.05 | 96% |
| 815 | 2016-07-15 22:00:46 | 53.50 | 94% |
| 376 | 2016-06-18 18:25:35 | 50.89 | 93% |