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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 29567 | 2020-11-08 21:26:36 | 152.43 | 99% |
| 26840 | 2020-06-07 05:30:18 | 162.43 | 99% |
| 19810 | 2019-01-31 01:01:14 | 138.60 | 98% |
| 16756 | 2018-11-03 23:51:09 | 133.08 | 97% |
| 12397 | 2018-04-24 01:58:23 | 144.22 | 98% |
| 10119 | 2017-04-28 01:46:35 | 148.66 | 96% |
| 9593 | 2017-04-02 19:43:10 | 126.64 | 96% |