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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 4586 | 2018-11-14 10:59:16 | 78.16 | 97% |
| 4197 | 2018-06-27 21:46:49 | 84.91 | 98% |
| 3193 | 2018-02-03 09:34:19 | 77.62 | 97% |
| 2232 | 2017-04-19 21:51:02 | 68.22 | 96% |
| 809 | 2016-06-26 06:55:57 | 54.92 | 90% |
| 376 | 2016-05-26 08:46:53 | 54.95 | 95% |