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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 26316 | 2018-02-12 22:35:06 | 94.05 | 98% |
| 25370 | 2018-01-25 16:00:05 | 90.32 | 97% |
| 21415 | 2017-11-04 22:50:07 | 88.32 | 97% |
| 16353 | 2017-06-26 02:47:29 | 78.03 | 96% |
| 15308 | 2017-05-22 17:20:36 | 79.94 | 88% |
| 14459 | 2017-04-26 03:12:51 | 85.36 | 91% |
| 11308 | 2017-02-28 04:26:22 | 75.55 | 88% |
| 10640 | 2017-02-25 01:00:26 | 75.98 | 91% |
| 7295 | 2017-01-29 19:58:17 | 76.90 | 91% |
| 4112 | 2017-01-09 01:31:25 | 65.11 | 90% |
| 2956 | 2017-01-01 15:48:08 | 70.36 | 92% |
| 2125 | 2016-12-26 17:40:26 | 79.12 | 98% |
| 770 | 2016-12-17 16:37:39 | 75.31 | 98% |