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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 14345 | 2019-01-26 00:12:01 | 108.53 | 97% |
| 13114 | 2018-12-31 09:57:48 | 106.07 | 97% |
| 7587 | 2018-04-04 19:48:10 | 95.04 | 96% |