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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 5725 | 2016-09-17 19:28:55 | 99.51 | 96% |
| 5305 | 2016-09-09 17:54:01 | 96.04 | 96% |
| 4757 | 2016-09-02 21:23:08 | 99.15 | 98% |
| 4747 | 2016-09-01 20:10:44 | 103.75 | 97% |
| 4721 | 2016-09-01 18:01:28 | 95.96 | 96% |
| 3702 | 2016-08-24 18:09:47 | 99.26 | 97% |
| 3642 | 2016-08-23 17:52:28 | 93.06 | 95% |
| 3508 | 2016-08-22 21:05:38 | 93.89 | 94% |
| 3205 | 2016-08-19 20:25:54 | 100.00 | 96% |
| 2394 | 2016-08-12 19:17:15 | 95.74 | 96% |