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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 6910 | 2017-11-03 02:06:05 | 163.29 | 99% |
| 5494 | 2017-06-07 02:37:25 | 170.04 | 98% |
| 4459 | 2017-05-20 19:34:57 | 179.54 | 96% |
| 3597 | 2017-04-27 20:32:30 | 165.59 | 94% |
| 1527 | 2017-02-24 09:57:46 | 173.68 | 97% |
| 1301 | 2017-02-15 10:57:47 | 163.94 | 96% |
| 730 | 2017-02-01 01:48:10 | 131.08 | 88% |