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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 11392 | 2019-07-30 19:28:36 | 66.99 | 95% |
| 2675 | 2018-07-03 14:07:41 | 60.22 | 96% |
| 750 | 2018-05-17 20:07:07 | 57.77 | 97% |