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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 6836 | 2020-01-30 02:17:21 | 123.92 | 98% |
| 5558 | 2018-08-09 13:12:50 | 107.94 | 97% |
| 4607 | 2018-06-23 10:32:48 | 115.81 | 99% |
| 2559 | 2017-06-07 03:48:15 | 112.79 | 98% |
| 2308 | 2017-05-23 03:13:23 | 100.16 | 96% |
| 1637 | 2017-03-19 21:16:43 | 97.57 | 93% |
| 1528 | 2017-03-05 16:10:53 | 95.64 | 93% |
| 1014 | 2017-01-28 15:47:51 | 104.70 | 98% |
| 148 | 2016-12-24 16:46:42 | 79.03 | 95% |
| 99 | 2016-12-20 19:58:39 | 76.58 | 96% |