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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 21879 | 2020-10-18 05:33:46 | 87.63 | 99% |
| 18274 | 2019-03-27 13:02:26 | 86.23 | 99% |
| 17040 | 2018-11-03 16:07:19 | 80.60 | 98% |
| 15979 | 2018-08-04 00:58:37 | 84.28 | 99% |