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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 4460 | 2017-07-31 21:24:24 | 103.16 | 99% |
| 2815 | 2017-02-18 10:33:25 | 88.08 | 94% |
| 2166 | 2016-12-08 04:58:13 | 82.73 | 94% |
| 1858 | 2016-11-17 20:54:30 | 83.22 | 95% |
| 1117 | 2015-11-17 14:53:01 | 71.50 | 89% |
| 152 | 2015-05-17 17:38:29 | 70.07 | 96% |