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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 17148 | 2019-01-29 23:35:46 | 111.22 | 98% |
| 17093 | 2019-01-28 06:02:40 | 98.73 | 98% |
| 16997 | 2019-01-27 00:07:00 | 112.36 | 98% |
| 16437 | 2018-12-01 03:59:06 | 113.09 | 99% |
| 15169 | 2018-09-26 20:57:56 | 97.28 | 98% |
| 13452 | 2018-05-18 22:16:20 | 103.78 | 97% |
| 6916 | 2018-01-08 01:19:26 | 93.98 | 99% |
| 4754 | 2017-12-22 04:53:16 | 88.87 | 97% |
| 1242 | 2017-11-22 03:35:18 | 75.68 | 97% |