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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 9945 | 2024-03-28 01:31:12 | 165.93 | 98.8% |
| 3100 | 2018-07-31 01:46:23 | 137.58 | 98% |
| 2416 | 2018-06-09 05:46:17 | 132.10 | 97% |
| 1902 | 2018-03-12 03:30:35 | 136.51 | 97% |