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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 10160 | 2020-04-26 12:54:54 | 106.85 | 98% |
| 8692 | 2020-01-08 06:18:28 | 106.30 | 98% |
| 7757 | 2019-11-18 07:01:35 | 106.40 | 98% |
| 7028 | 2019-07-25 12:17:42 | 96.76 | 98% |
| 5342 | 2018-06-22 12:54:38 | 88.59 | 98% |
| 2267 | 2017-08-23 10:32:11 | 90.12 | 99% |
| 1337 | 2017-06-12 08:17:05 | 78.15 | 98% |