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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 284877 | 2019-03-04 05:16:59 | 131.75 | 97% |
| 284876 | 2019-03-04 05:16:04 | 131.16 | 97% |
| 274920 | 2018-11-23 01:06:15 | 187.47 | 99% |
| 260919 | 2018-09-29 01:28:27 | 147.94 | 96% |
| 257775 | 2018-09-20 17:55:53 | 133.49 | 96% |
| 255075 | 2018-09-10 00:27:50 | 126.13 | 97% |
| 247709 | 2018-08-30 19:50:57 | 150.60 | 98% |