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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 6887 | 2019-06-24 05:31:28 | 87.71 | 94% |
| 5157 | 2019-03-27 04:11:41 | 106.55 | 96% |
| 4554 | 2019-02-12 03:10:34 | 93.55 | 96% |
| 1785 | 2018-09-03 14:01:32 | 92.05 | 96% |
| 5 | 2018-08-02 07:53:08 | 78.17 | 97% |