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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 7580 | 2020-01-17 12:08:37 | 89.27 | 96% |
| 4906 | 2019-03-30 04:14:40 | 75.16 | 95% |
| 2921 | 2019-03-04 01:11:15 | 67.91 | 94% |