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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 17251 | 2019-04-16 08:30:44 | 169.24 | 99% |
| 14668 | 2018-05-15 09:05:58 | 165.36 | 99% |
| 13827 | 2018-05-06 20:24:25 | 149.20 | 99% |
| 13188 | 2018-05-01 13:45:12 | 148.30 | 98% |
| 7641 | 2017-11-22 05:22:23 | 159.95 | 99% |
| 6090 | 2017-10-16 12:06:46 | 138.21 | 97% |