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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 20643 | 2018-10-04 19:41:37 | 108.91 | 97% |
| 17893 | 2018-07-02 17:27:01 | 115.35 | 97% |
| 16163 | 2018-04-30 16:50:52 | 115.59 | 98% |
| 15526 | 2018-04-18 15:51:10 | 98.64 | 96% |
| 14183 | 2018-03-15 17:30:31 | 97.16 | 97% |
| 12710 | 2018-02-09 18:52:44 | 117.32 | 98% |
| 12559 | 2018-02-04 16:30:24 | 103.79 | 97% |
| 6400 | 2017-08-31 15:53:19 | 98.81 | 97% |
| 1516 | 2017-05-26 13:42:32 | 109.68 | 98% |
| 1268 | 2017-05-24 14:32:57 | 95.88 | 95% |
| 601 | 2017-05-05 18:47:17 | 88.42 | 92% |
| 446 | 2017-04-25 14:55:16 | 101.27 | 96% |