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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 6260 | 2019-09-10 03:10:03 | 129.66 | 99% |
| 2169 | 2019-04-05 07:53:43 | 118.30 | 98% |
| 471 | 2018-04-24 04:04:49 | 98.29 | 96% |