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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 9027 | 2016-09-09 23:06:17 | 124.11 | 95% |
| 8018 | 2016-06-01 05:28:45 | 116.50 | 93% |
| 7446 | 2016-03-11 04:32:48 | 105.39 | 90% |
| 7242 | 2016-01-31 13:34:10 | 118.07 | 96% |
| 6470 | 2015-10-18 19:01:35 | 116.65 | 95% |
| 6234 | 2015-09-03 23:47:53 | 126.17 | 96% |
| 5262 | 2015-04-04 20:20:31 | 113.40 | 94% |