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 |
---|---|---|---|
5715 | 2020-11-28 16:27:33 | 89.66 | 96% |
3988 | 2020-10-15 14:40:06 | 70.47 | 95% |
1752 | 2020-09-02 10:40:31 | 84.29 | 97% |