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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 9388 | 2019-02-24 15:52:23 | 104.39 | 97% |
| 5804 | 2018-03-11 14:52:50 | 91.23 | 96% |
| 5674 | 2018-03-06 07:19:22 | 94.93 | 96% |