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 |
---|---|---|---|
9775 | 2019-09-21 13:32:11 | 96.62 | 98% |
5632 | 2018-08-28 03:28:57 | 91.57 | 98% |
4448 | 2018-07-13 12:56:55 | 96.13 | 98% |