The Tower of Evil

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Walter Byerly drove to his volunteer “day job” in his “perfectly good” Chevy Nova. The car, not too dented and rusty, was his sop to thrift, or so he thought, also his revolt against stylistic whims.

At work he hopped into a late model Ford minivan, light blue in color and emblazoned with the words CARE WHEELS, INC., to begin chauffeuring homeless folk around town. On occasion, and with great reluctance, Byerly would admit the van was a lot more fun to drive, even if it lacked the charm and integrity of his clunker.

He nestled the van against the curb in front of the Salvation Army building on Chapala St. below Haley. A group of homeless gathered, waiting for breakfast at The Sally, as it was called.

This was the seedy part of Santa Barbara, the closest thing it had to a skid row. But even here there was a sort of tainted beauty, like a dowager with memories of glory days, needing only a little fixing up to once again attend the ball.

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