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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 6941 | 2018-11-25 04:20:41 | 156.62 | 100% |
| 5812 | 2018-10-08 21:27:46 | 164.60 | 99% |
| 1773 | 2018-06-04 21:05:43 | 155.49 | 100% |