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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 8817 | 2017-07-07 23:08:06 | 104.13 | 98% |
| 6975 | 2016-10-27 04:04:25 | 100.44 | 97% |
| 5804 | 2016-06-13 00:01:27 | 98.73 | 98% |
| 5592 | 2016-05-13 06:08:06 | 95.32 | 98% |
| 5037 | 2016-03-10 00:19:25 | 105.06 | 98% |
| 4808 | 2015-12-02 00:52:36 | 101.40 | 99% |