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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 25527 | 2016-12-07 21:39:57 | 130.22 | 93% |
| 23395 | 2016-09-23 19:53:44 | 132.33 | 96% |
| 20513 | 2016-06-24 01:44:23 | 135.52 | 97% |
| 19200 | 2016-05-02 06:46:44 | 128.54 | 96% |
| 16446 | 2016-03-25 02:20:05 | 128.92 | 96% |
| 16355 | 2016-03-24 23:43:22 | 111.59 | 96% |
| 16256 | 2016-03-22 22:01:38 | 119.68 | 97% |
| 14590 | 2016-02-22 05:53:17 | 136.75 | 99% |
| 13877 | 2015-05-03 02:53:45 | 128.48 | 97% |