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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 3940 | 2017-04-30 16:51:25 | 93.92 | 91% |
| 3193 | 2017-03-31 17:09:23 | 94.86 | 97% |
| 2526 | 2017-02-28 15:21:34 | 92.38 | 93% |
| 2340 | 2017-02-22 15:46:43 | 79.34 | 88% |