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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 4201 | 2020-02-17 03:40:22 | 124.21 | 97% |
| 3105 | 2020-01-13 01:15:32 | 126.92 | 97% |
| 2168 | 2019-12-28 19:35:42 | 129.76 | 98% |