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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 20361 | 2019-03-21 22:27:22 | 91.55 | 97% |
| 18508 | 2019-01-25 22:01:14 | 89.96 | 98% |
| 6236 | 2018-04-19 13:06:58 | 78.10 | 96% |