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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 40325 | 2018-11-21 17:01:43 | 82.52 | 99% |
| 35417 | 2017-10-21 11:33:21 | 77.36 | 98% |
| 33974 | 2017-09-19 16:16:51 | 77.78 | 97% |
| 30348 | 2017-08-25 13:41:29 | 77.27 | 98% |
| 28720 | 2017-08-13 05:34:29 | 77.81 | 98% |
| 23246 | 2017-04-22 15:46:03 | 76.00 | 97% |
| 18847 | 2017-02-08 13:10:57 | 74.11 | 95% |