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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 2891 | 2020-10-30 08:11:45 | 71.76 | 98% |
| 1655 | 2020-10-11 18:50:04 | 57.98 | 97% |
| 1392 | 2020-10-09 16:53:49 | 59.34 | 96% |