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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 3676 | 2016-06-01 07:54:15 | 58.67 | 90% |
| 3274 | 2016-04-22 10:01:43 | 62.02 | 95% |
| 2403 | 2016-03-06 14:02:13 | 62.20 | 96% |
| 1527 | 2016-01-27 08:03:30 | 59.24 | 94% |
| 1134 | 2015-12-30 08:28:15 | 58.10 | 96% |
| 789 | 2015-12-09 09:54:31 | 52.08 | 92% |
| 423 | 2015-11-30 08:16:32 | 50.47 | 94% |
| 185 | 2015-11-22 17:19:09 | 40.08 | 88% |