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 |
---|---|---|---|
241 | 2019-11-11 22:30:19 | 77.18 | 97% |
154 | 2019-11-10 23:54:01 | 73.91 | 95% |