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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 22768 | 2020-10-11 21:58:37 | 98.68 | 97% |
| 16645 | 2020-05-08 03:44:51 | 86.36 | 96% |
| 11290 | 2020-01-25 22:36:41 | 93.76 | 97% |
| 4804 | 2019-09-04 01:04:30 | 98.67 | 97% |
| 794 | 2019-05-11 20:48:46 | 92.20 | 96% |