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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 3916 | 2020-08-26 14:42:58 | 64.54 | 97% |
| 3535 | 2020-08-10 19:54:24 | 53.51 | 96% |
| 1112 | 2020-05-16 12:14:52 | 45.63 | 95% |