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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 32080 | 2019-08-30 14:09:36 | 129.80 | 99% |
| 25470 | 2019-06-04 16:43:59 | 111.66 | 97% |
| 23863 | 2019-05-10 11:53:10 | 115.42 | 98% |
| 9358 | 2018-10-29 19:17:13 | 80.31 | 96% |
| 5259 | 2018-09-24 17:07:34 | 66.92 | 96% |
| 4151 | 2018-09-17 17:48:26 | 75.16 | 97% |
| 1939 | 2018-08-22 20:31:20 | 58.45 | 96% |