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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 8568 | 2016-11-19 17:37:57 | 75.53 | 97% |
| 6197 | 2015-10-15 15:28:19 | 73.81 | 98% |
| 5333 | 2015-09-24 10:12:12 | 75.32 | 96% |
| 4788 | 2015-09-11 15:56:37 | 68.58 | 98% |
| 4114 | 2015-08-30 17:35:33 | 67.76 | 98% |
| 3337 | 2015-08-23 12:46:51 | 66.10 | 97% |
| 2873 | 2015-08-20 08:56:11 | 69.37 | 97% |
| 738 | 2015-07-17 07:05:40 | 51.37 | 96% |
| 401 | 2015-07-12 07:53:01 | 54.03 | 95% |
| 21 | 2015-07-04 12:54:49 | 48.76 | 95% |