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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 40241 | 2018-07-05 08:48:31 | 119.78 | 97% |
| 35327 | 2018-03-02 14:29:49 | 126.73 | 98% |
| 34974 | 2018-02-22 19:31:14 | 120.42 | 98% |