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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 20287 | 2020-07-19 19:50:48 | 152.37 | 99% |
| 9096 | 2018-10-14 07:13:55 | 140.52 | 98% |
| 8125 | 2018-09-04 17:00:32 | 138.74 | 99% |
| 8113 | 2018-09-01 15:30:44 | 133.93 | 99% |
| 4312 | 2018-04-27 13:19:10 | 122.28 | 98% |
| 3641 | 2018-04-17 07:23:05 | 120.91 | 98% |
| 3124 | 2018-04-11 09:27:03 | 125.90 | 99% |
| 2519 | 2018-03-27 09:19:25 | 115.47 | 98% |