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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 8430 | 2020-11-18 04:09:26 | 112.37 | 97% |
| 6871 | 2020-10-29 03:21:45 | 98.90 | 97% |
| 4215 | 2019-03-19 00:10:58 | 102.07 | 96% |
| 2463 | 2019-01-29 21:08:00 | 88.55 | 95% |
| 1335 | 2019-01-10 06:29:32 | 102.02 | 96% |
| 677 | 2019-01-03 03:15:41 | 95.09 | 96% |