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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 63250 | 2019-08-23 01:31:17 | 166.82 | 99% |
| 61772 | 2019-08-03 18:38:35 | 192.59 | 100% |
| 59564 | 2019-07-06 19:40:28 | 191.35 | 100% |
| 52339 | 2019-03-10 03:55:55 | 170.08 | 99% |
| 51606 | 2019-03-02 04:13:23 | 170.62 | 99% |
| 34664 | 2018-08-27 15:21:03 | 156.87 | 99% |
| 33962 | 2018-08-21 13:33:13 | 167.13 | 100% |
| 23595 | 2017-11-07 16:53:57 | 153.87 | 99% |
| 21195 | 2017-07-25 14:03:56 | 161.80 | 99% |