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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 14750 | 2018-09-20 00:00:19 | 99.83 | 98% |
| 14252 | 2018-09-10 14:02:10 | 97.57 | 99% |
| 13394 | 2018-09-05 14:56:44 | 101.83 | 98% |
| 5671 | 2018-03-09 12:59:17 | 94.76 | 98% |
| 1855 | 2017-10-15 13:58:43 | 85.97 | 97% |
| 1371 | 2017-10-13 14:02:07 | 80.60 | 97% |
| 1267 | 2017-10-13 12:14:36 | 80.56 | 96% |