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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 6630 | 2018-07-21 00:57:01 | 103.84 | 98% |
| 4685 | 2018-06-09 02:24:35 | 111.11 | 98% |
| 3914 | 2018-05-13 22:48:35 | 107.07 | 97% |