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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 22382 | 2019-03-29 16:27:48 | 132.20 | 97% |
| 16108 | 2018-11-09 21:46:44 | 126.17 | 97% |
| 15211 | 2018-10-25 02:37:30 | 129.61 | 97% |
| 4823 | 2018-08-03 05:08:32 | 92.88 | 95% |