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 |
---|---|---|---|
11374 | 2020-05-09 23:07:12 | 156.44 | 99% |
10937 | 2018-07-09 01:18:52 | 154.94 | 99% |
10886 | 2018-07-08 19:41:57 | 149.87 | 99% |