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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 7202 | 2019-02-08 15:13:05 | 96.66 | 98% |
| 5944 | 2018-08-03 16:50:30 | 92.19 | 98% |
| 5525 | 2018-07-18 18:41:12 | 99.66 | 98% |