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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 5699 | 2020-11-11 04:36:17 | 69.92 | 97% |
| 4641 | 2020-07-09 04:51:06 | 59.99 | 95% |
| 2616 | 2020-01-18 20:44:10 | 59.20 | 94% |