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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 96352 | 2020-05-24 00:00:04 | 94.29 | 97% |
| 93875 | 2020-04-26 02:02:20 | 99.00 | 98% |
| 80470 | 2019-08-21 13:27:50 | 90.76 | 97% |
| 72978 | 2019-03-12 03:43:45 | 89.64 | 96% |
| 69325 | 2019-01-23 14:15:41 | 83.82 | 97% |
| 67690 | 2018-12-31 00:50:04 | 85.03 | 96% |
| 66992 | 2018-12-21 19:50:43 | 88.77 | 96% |
| 64267 | 2018-10-25 23:05:23 | 96.36 | 97% |
| 57768 | 2018-06-05 00:25:21 | 87.92 | 97% |
| 56325 | 2018-05-04 14:39:04 | 84.26 | 97% |
| 52829 | 2018-03-11 23:25:31 | 77.78 | 96% |