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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 18085 | 2020-09-29 21:54:01 | 82.12 | 97% |
| 16192 | 2020-08-24 13:31:00 | 82.42 | 97% |
| 15665 | 2020-08-14 13:33:38 | 90.94 | 97% |
| 13557 | 2020-07-07 20:29:20 | 90.66 | 98% |
| 13549 | 2020-07-07 14:10:04 | 93.32 | 98% |
| 10252 | 2020-03-11 23:22:03 | 94.02 | 99% |
| 9217 | 2020-02-23 00:14:50 | 85.44 | 98% |
| 7404 | 2020-02-03 00:56:37 | 80.63 | 97% |
| 6967 | 2020-01-30 04:46:18 | 83.67 | 98% |
| 4564 | 2019-12-31 21:17:55 | 82.06 | 97% |