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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 6945 | 2016-11-28 12:04:10 | 81.39 | 93% |
| 6118 | 2015-12-23 10:35:53 | 80.36 | 93% |
| 5985 | 2015-11-18 09:12:14 | 86.27 | 95% |
| 5762 | 2015-10-02 14:12:21 | 89.81 | 97% |
| 5151 | 2015-06-26 08:43:02 | 95.21 | 97% |
| 5040 | 2015-06-07 10:52:55 | 88.45 | 97% |
| 4850 | 2015-05-13 03:48:06 | 87.13 | 98% |
| 4804 | 2015-05-01 08:09:20 | 85.69 | 93% |