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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 57738 | 2019-07-22 16:30:13 | 121.71 | 96% |
| 53384 | 2018-07-12 17:45:09 | 121.34 | 97% |
| 49721 | 2018-03-21 13:14:27 | 110.42 | 97% |