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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 9604 | 2020-09-29 10:43:17 | 76.97 | 96% |
| 6874 | 2020-08-17 11:20:11 | 80.84 | 98% |
| 1827 | 2020-05-13 18:17:51 | 71.11 | 96% |