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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 21389 | 2018-11-13 16:29:50 | 116.08 | 98% |
| 19897 | 2018-09-14 17:27:06 | 128.05 | 99% |
| 14357 | 2018-03-20 17:16:07 | 105.12 | 97% |