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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 29510 | 2019-10-09 04:15:36 | 85.59 | 98% |
| 23463 | 2019-07-12 04:38:55 | 93.02 | 99% |
| 17839 | 2019-04-10 03:44:00 | 87.98 | 98% |
| 8061 | 2018-06-07 03:44:44 | 85.70 | 98% |