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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 2204 | 2016-12-02 13:31:48 | 97.90 | 97% |
| 1653 | 2016-05-17 12:13:15 | 77.79 | 92% |
| 1469 | 2016-05-09 12:28:57 | 86.69 | 92% |
| 1323 | 2016-04-27 13:38:15 | 79.08 | 94% |
| 1171 | 2016-04-21 18:00:03 | 67.52 | 88% |
| 889 | 2016-04-05 12:31:11 | 76.59 | 95% |
| 804 | 2016-03-22 17:33:33 | 75.99 | 95% |
| 346 | 2016-03-02 02:02:01 | 68.76 | 95% |
| 176 | 2016-02-23 12:57:09 | 59.43 | 90% |