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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 21299 | 2020-08-18 22:58:51 | 119.94 | 98% |
| 18105 | 2020-06-10 16:35:30 | 126.37 | 99% |
| 16589 | 2020-02-21 01:20:31 | 114.74 | 98% |
| 9377 | 2019-05-01 16:41:37 | 113.22 | 99% |
| 9229 | 2019-04-28 04:18:40 | 110.17 | 98% |
| 6273 | 2019-02-14 02:03:32 | 111.74 | 98% |
| 4837 | 2018-12-01 20:16:55 | 104.51 | 97% |
| 1439 | 2018-04-17 02:52:08 | 94.41 | 97% |