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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 5769 | 2018-07-22 05:00:31 | 76.13 | 96% |
| 5500 | 2018-07-10 16:54:14 | 76.18 | 97% |
| 4649 | 2018-04-24 07:45:48 | 83.82 | 98% |
| 2609 | 2017-12-20 06:26:39 | 79.07 | 98% |
| 979 | 2017-10-29 20:47:33 | 69.54 | 97% |
| 774 | 2017-09-29 02:53:34 | 59.20 | 96% |