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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 5070 | 2016-04-16 15:38:29 | 90.04 | 98% |
| 5005 | 2016-04-06 09:50:14 | 82.05 | 96% |
| 4958 | 2016-03-28 15:14:23 | 70.06 | 93% |
| 4733 | 2016-02-17 10:57:56 | 72.98 | 93% |
| 2842 | 2016-01-08 15:57:36 | 57.77 | 88% |
| 2319 | 2016-01-01 10:22:11 | 69.36 | 95% |
| 413 | 2015-12-09 09:33:00 | 69.02 | 95% |
| 230 | 2015-12-05 18:47:30 | 59.33 | 91% |
| 25 | 2015-11-29 19:28:16 | 53.14 | 97% |