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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 8722 | 2020-04-26 22:24:30 | 95.68 | 97% |
| 3705 | 2017-11-10 19:37:05 | 84.18 | 95% |
| 3159 | 2017-11-04 22:50:05 | 91.70 | 97% |
| 1670 | 2017-10-10 19:53:55 | 99.61 | 97% |
| 1079 | 2017-01-29 21:51:03 | 92.62 | 95% |
| 687 | 2016-02-25 21:24:20 | 77.29 | 94% |
| 119 | 2015-09-02 14:28:58 | 57.61 | 90% |