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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 30503 | 2020-01-04 04:50:45 | 156.58 | 99% |
| 27655 | 2019-06-03 17:16:01 | 147.72 | 99% |
| 23065 | 2019-02-09 18:47:47 | 149.57 | 99% |
| 16534 | 2018-11-26 22:34:23 | 140.30 | 99% |
| 15508 | 2018-10-22 15:19:11 | 151.61 | 100% |