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 |
---|---|---|---|
6143 | 2020-10-01 20:01:08 | 74.40 | 96% |
3899 | 2020-05-15 03:39:59 | 69.97 | 94% |
1485 | 2020-04-19 04:55:48 | 62.66 | 95% |