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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 44073 | 2020-11-24 09:39:39 | 96.93 | 98% |
| 38847 | 2020-09-20 13:37:26 | 98.97 | 99% |
| 33201 | 2020-05-06 17:08:17 | 74.19 | 99% |
| 26149 | 2020-01-06 17:08:10 | 89.16 | 98% |
| 26074 | 2020-01-05 13:17:06 | 83.13 | 97% |
| 19440 | 2019-10-13 16:49:23 | 90.21 | 98% |
| 19348 | 2019-10-12 12:56:09 | 90.13 | 98% |
| 11632 | 2019-04-17 14:30:25 | 82.29 | 97% |
| 10924 | 2019-04-08 15:45:03 | 89.76 | 97% |
| 10281 | 2019-04-01 16:26:28 | 83.42 | 97% |
| 5758 | 2019-02-17 08:29:11 | 92.65 | 99% |
| 507 | 2018-11-20 14:02:12 | 72.13 | 96% |