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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 28210 | 2020-05-12 15:23:10 | 130.20 | 98% |
| 26190 | 2019-12-23 15:45:13 | 138.03 | 99% |
| 26038 | 2019-12-05 03:16:18 | 131.10 | 99% |
| 22600 | 2019-04-07 03:18:24 | 128.46 | 98% |