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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 4944 | 2016-05-19 21:25:07 | 66.37 | 90% |
| 4488 | 2016-04-15 12:14:35 | 61.18 | 87% |
| 4337 | 2016-04-06 12:51:05 | 81.48 | 94% |
| 4057 | 2016-02-08 02:09:30 | 79.36 | 91% |
| 3123 | 2015-10-26 20:46:30 | 80.37 | 92% |
| 2911 | 2015-09-21 16:19:19 | 78.97 | 93% |
| 2526 | 2015-09-03 23:08:12 | 71.97 | 96% |
| 1784 | 2015-05-27 21:55:53 | 64.43 | 89% |
| 1289 | 2015-05-09 18:33:22 | 55.39 | 92% |
| 1271 | 2015-05-09 09:11:05 | 69.51 | 92% |