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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 36606 | 2020-01-30 02:43:35 | 85.66 | 96% |
| 36491 | 2020-01-14 23:53:05 | 85.45 | 98% |
| 7856 | 2018-05-31 14:01:53 | 61.95 | 94% |
| 4977 | 2018-05-04 13:40:37 | 65.27 | 96% |
| 4022 | 2018-04-26 22:05:20 | 58.17 | 95% |