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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 20747 | 2020-03-01 09:30:46 | 85.87 | 98% |
| 17410 | 2019-01-14 06:03:21 | 83.33 | 97% |
| 14817 | 2018-11-08 09:21:56 | 82.95 | 98% |
| 12740 | 2018-05-16 01:30:12 | 87.59 | 98% |