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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 32726 | 2019-04-01 13:14:05 | 97.53 | 97% |
| 30952 | 2019-01-02 02:59:54 | 93.78 | 97% |
| 27724 | 2018-08-30 05:23:38 | 83.21 | 97% |
| 24753 | 2018-05-30 14:55:25 | 91.18 | 97% |
| 22999 | 2018-03-30 05:56:22 | 82.38 | 97% |
| 22640 | 2018-03-11 15:42:01 | 86.68 | 98% |
| 22354 | 2018-03-01 05:34:29 | 83.71 | 97% |