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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 3913 | 2016-07-07 07:33:18 | 134.75 | 97% |
| 3723 | 2016-03-02 22:23:58 | 115.49 | 94% |
| 2755 | 2016-02-18 02:38:43 | 136.08 | 97% |
| 1736 | 2016-01-20 04:48:54 | 102.96 | 92% |
| 1209 | 2016-01-14 19:03:54 | 118.19 | 95% |
| 1019 | 2016-01-13 08:24:40 | 119.65 | 97% |
| 883 | 2016-01-12 16:36:32 | 121.10 | 97% |
| 215 | 2015-12-18 23:32:25 | 108.16 | 97% |