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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 15869 | 2020-07-06 04:37:58 | 102.80 | 96% |
| 15195 | 2020-07-03 00:45:24 | 106.40 | 96% |
| 13996 | 2020-04-22 07:46:29 | 100.76 | 96% |
| 13787 | 2020-04-20 01:08:22 | 101.59 | 96% |
| 6762 | 2019-07-18 20:41:26 | 93.30 | 98% |