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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 12207 | 2019-04-07 23:20:03 | 135.36 | 99% |
| 11265 | 2019-01-27 01:57:18 | 115.32 | 98% |
| 10361 | 2018-12-06 11:36:10 | 125.56 | 98% |