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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 18197 | 2018-09-06 18:08:20 | 55.40 | 95% |
| 17437 | 2018-08-13 21:45:48 | 73.87 | 98% |
| 15399 | 2018-06-16 12:47:34 | 65.38 | 95% |
| 13836 | 2018-05-18 18:38:47 | 65.74 | 95% |
| 10236 | 2017-08-31 20:55:18 | 53.84 | 95% |
| 8573 | 2017-08-15 19:04:38 | 54.04 | 95% |
| 8150 | 2017-08-07 21:47:07 | 48.89 | 95% |
| 7040 | 2017-07-18 16:32:13 | 49.99 | 96% |