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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 5088 | 2019-10-24 02:51:06 | 93.80 | 97% |
| 3296 | 2017-04-04 13:50:01 | 100.75 | 98% |
| 1434 | 2016-11-11 13:20:19 | 93.46 | 96% |
| 1045 | 2016-10-28 15:34:45 | 79.59 | 91% |
| 735 | 2016-10-12 12:10:57 | 73.25 | 93% |
| 548 | 2016-09-13 14:18:03 | 70.17 | 89% |
| 333 | 2016-09-02 11:25:27 | 84.10 | 94% |