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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 15531 | 2020-11-30 05:50:43 | 71.41 | 95% |
| 13471 | 2020-07-01 10:54:11 | 63.71 | 94% |
| 11136 | 2019-12-11 12:32:10 | 67.47 | 96% |