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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 3958 | 2018-11-01 16:16:12 | 73.80 | 96% |
| 1881 | 2018-03-25 21:20:57 | 75.15 | 96% |
| 186 | 2018-02-20 18:57:32 | 67.45 | 95% |