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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 6359 | 2016-11-04 20:21:20 | 91.71 | 91% |
| 4864 | 2016-09-19 01:43:08 | 100.59 | 97% |
| 4775 | 2016-09-16 22:53:47 | 95.72 | 95% |
| 4242 | 2016-09-09 18:37:04 | 103.10 | 97% |
| 3455 | 2016-06-03 02:12:51 | 92.04 | 95% |
| 2250 | 2016-05-01 02:45:51 | 93.95 | 97% |
| 2155 | 2016-04-30 02:24:42 | 85.58 | 94% |
| 1621 | 2016-04-22 23:09:12 | 90.68 | 96% |
| 1613 | 2016-04-22 22:55:36 | 86.97 | 95% |
| 1549 | 2016-04-22 20:35:45 | 98.43 | 99% |
| 1312 | 2016-04-22 01:34:26 | 93.72 | 97% |
| 660 | 2016-04-14 23:37:33 | 76.19 | 94% |