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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 6643 | 2019-12-28 19:33:50 | 80.06 | 98% |
| 5376 | 2017-06-02 16:12:12 | 66.77 | 93% |
| 3787 | 2016-09-17 15:35:11 | 57.60 | 88% |
| 3368 | 2016-07-08 13:52:44 | 70.32 | 95% |
| 3286 | 2016-06-23 18:10:50 | 66.18 | 96% |
| 2241 | 2016-02-26 19:50:39 | 57.81 | 93% |
| 1616 | 2015-12-20 22:51:09 | 59.77 | 94% |
| 1107 | 2015-10-23 13:36:02 | 53.77 | 95% |