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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 2667 | 2020-05-02 04:00:43 | 79.06 | 96% |
| 2308 | 2020-03-25 19:50:37 | 78.31 | 97% |
| 80 | 2019-03-18 15:58:10 | 61.03 | 94% |