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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 66481 | 2020-05-26 16:28:38 | 109.68 | 98% |
| 64757 | 2018-03-31 13:37:08 | 108.88 | 98% |
| 64312 | 2018-03-18 15:01:19 | 90.87 | 98% |