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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 6989 | 2018-04-17 22:33:46 | 95.69 | 98% |
| 5503 | 2017-06-12 19:22:32 | 107.32 | 98% |
| 3928 | 2016-08-07 09:07:27 | 94.71 | 94% |
| 3774 | 2016-07-22 13:54:55 | 94.35 | 93% |
| 3544 | 2016-07-04 16:53:38 | 93.01 | 95% |
| 3061 | 2015-06-23 20:06:33 | 95.93 | 93% |
| 3012 | 2015-06-21 20:57:56 | 90.01 | 95% |
| 2987 | 2015-06-20 21:55:29 | 97.28 | 97% |
| 2590 | 2015-05-02 09:55:18 | 90.00 | 93% |