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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 62114 | 2017-11-05 16:55:43 | 118.26 | 98% |
| 60538 | 2017-10-18 14:58:03 | 117.89 | 98% |
| 54748 | 2017-07-26 18:19:59 | 97.04 | 96% |
| 52912 | 2017-07-12 12:19:36 | 111.66 | 98% |
| 49362 | 2017-05-18 09:25:20 | 98.70 | 94% |
| 44118 | 2017-04-07 14:31:25 | 104.42 | 97% |
| 42192 | 2017-03-22 15:06:24 | 103.60 | 93% |
| 39711 | 2017-03-08 15:33:53 | 115.71 | 98% |
| 38934 | 2017-02-23 12:51:29 | 114.53 | 96% |
| 37039 | 2017-01-20 12:13:12 | 105.71 | 95% |