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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 61250 | 2020-08-21 10:17:06 | 93.05 | 97% |
| 60184 | 2020-08-16 07:06:23 | 119.77 | 97% |
| 55823 | 2020-07-19 21:48:01 | 111.06 | 97% |
| 34244 | 2020-03-29 21:39:35 | 124.82 | 98% |
| 32212 | 2020-03-13 21:51:39 | 129.41 | 98% |
| 21016 | 2019-11-09 06:27:38 | 107.04 | 98% |
| 18139 | 2019-10-15 11:36:16 | 116.82 | 98% |
| 17517 | 2019-10-05 02:06:38 | 98.68 | 96% |
| 15761 | 2019-09-01 08:35:14 | 97.29 | 96% |
| 15423 | 2019-08-30 15:49:53 | 118.19 | 98% |
| 9817 | 2019-06-04 16:40:01 | 98.87 | 96% |
| 6057 | 2019-04-14 13:20:40 | 122.99 | 98% |