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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 4492 | 2019-11-13 13:36:48 | 106.85 | 97% |
| 4467 | 2019-11-11 12:05:10 | 111.67 | 97% |
| 1889 | 2016-09-14 20:40:57 | 96.25 | 95% |
| 1588 | 2015-11-26 15:17:44 | 77.75 | 89% |
| 1577 | 2015-11-26 12:05:23 | 74.49 | 90% |
| 1379 | 2015-06-08 09:13:23 | 76.16 | 88% |