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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 4806 | 2017-02-17 17:40:04 | 75.83 | 96% |
| 4654 | 2016-09-23 00:41:31 | 86.08 | 97% |
| 3998 | 2016-07-09 18:53:14 | 66.37 | 93% |
| 3892 | 2016-05-19 21:37:29 | 80.43 | 97% |
| 3187 | 2016-02-10 08:50:02 | 75.41 | 95% |
| 2832 | 2016-02-01 22:16:27 | 74.87 | 98% |
| 2596 | 2016-01-28 11:33:59 | 72.74 | 94% |
| 2447 | 2016-01-26 02:57:02 | 66.53 | 92% |
| 1148 | 2015-12-03 07:39:24 | 67.36 | 97% |