What really counted was the possibility of escape, a leap of freedom, out of the implacable ritual, a wild run for it that would give whatever chance for hope there was. Of course, hope meant being cut down on some street corner, as you ran like mad, by a random bullet. But when I really thought it through, nothing was going to allow me such a luxury. Everything was against it; I would just be caught up in the machinery again.
| Game | Time | WPM | Accuracy |
|---|---|---|---|
| 936 | 2017-04-16 13:41:57 | 85.59 | 92% |
| 929 | 2017-04-16 12:41:30 | 88.05 | 95% |
| 270 | 2017-03-25 06:29:32 | 84.50 | 95% |