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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 5748 | 2017-03-10 08:32:57 | 144.81 | 99% |
| 5606 | 2017-02-14 13:31:14 | 142.20 | 99% |
| 5419 | 2017-02-09 11:34:23 | 150.91 | 100% |
| 3334 | 2016-08-22 08:12:13 | 117.90 | 94% |
| 3241 | 2016-08-20 12:17:05 | 144.67 | 98% |
| 2374 | 2016-07-10 11:49:05 | 130.41 | 95% |
| 1471 | 2016-04-23 15:48:17 | 121.74 | 97% |
| 641 | 2016-01-07 07:53:02 | 124.41 | 98% |
| 422 | 2015-12-20 11:49:38 | 120.77 | 98% |