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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 7766 | 2017-04-17 20:23:01 | 75.50 | 90% |
| 7132 | 2017-01-09 17:40:19 | 84.10 | 92% |
| 6981 | 2016-12-19 18:43:50 | 70.97 | 87% |
| 6633 | 2016-12-12 17:37:02 | 78.47 | 90% |
| 6167 | 2016-11-14 20:35:52 | 67.38 | 87% |
| 4551 | 2016-08-12 16:00:24 | 71.21 | 91% |
| 3487 | 2016-06-12 17:02:52 | 66.01 | 91% |
| 3395 | 2016-06-09 16:59:32 | 55.02 | 85% |
| 2932 | 2016-05-22 13:19:08 | 73.92 | 94% |
| 2481 | 2016-05-03 18:27:34 | 59.57 | 89% |
| 2201 | 2016-04-27 15:01:28 | 55.66 | 88% |
| 1578 | 2016-04-03 12:19:19 | 51.61 | 87% |