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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 17715 | 2020-07-02 10:54:37 | 76.39 | 94% |
| 8488 | 2019-06-26 18:40:53 | 66.58 | 93% |
| 8361 | 2019-06-20 01:03:20 | 75.31 | 93% |
| 7036 | 2019-05-15 13:19:28 | 75.81 | 94% |
| 6877 | 2019-05-12 15:25:55 | 80.65 | 94% |