On the sidewalk across from me, near the entrance to a barbecue joint, some people were holding an old-fashioned revival meeting. The barbecue cook, wearing a dirty white apron, his conked hair reddish and metallic in the pale sun, and a cigarette between his lips, stood in the doorway, watching them. Kids and older people paused in their errands and stood there, along with some older men and a couple of very tough-looking women who watched everything that happened on the avenue, as though they owned it, or were maybe owned by it.
Game | Time | WPM | Accuracy |
---|---|---|---|
1165 | 2019-10-21 20:12:16 | 82.86 | 98% |
371 | 2019-10-10 14:53:24 | 81.14 | 98% |