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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 8139 | 2020-05-11 09:39:03 | 103.55 | 97% |
| 3239 | 2019-12-02 21:49:16 | 101.04 | 97% |
| 2191 | 2019-06-23 07:08:20 | 95.98 | 97% |
| 916 | 2019-02-03 15:10:44 | 84.21 | 96% |