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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 7800 | 2019-02-07 02:15:18 | 97.47 | 98% |
| 5794 | 2018-09-24 23:28:31 | 89.17 | 98% |
| 5021 | 2018-06-17 16:02:56 | 95.38 | 98% |