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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 8787 | 2019-12-30 22:17:36 | 81.54 | 97% |
| 1369 | 2019-06-09 09:42:37 | 71.99 | 95% |
| 1193 | 2019-04-22 19:30:15 | 76.70 | 95% |
| 1004 | 2019-04-17 15:16:15 | 77.65 | 96% |