At four in the morning Olde Town Arvada belongs to the streetlights and the tall silhouette of the old flour mill, and the first train of the day is still an hour from the platform. SnowOps Denver is already moving by then, blades down across lots and long drives, shovels on the steps and station-bound sidewalks, de-icer laid into the corners a plow can never quite reach. The aim is that no one thinks about the storm at all: they walk out at six-thirty, and the pavement is simply there. Snow that fell all night gets moved before the town has opinions about it. It is unglamorous, early, cold work, and the empty cleared lot at sunrise is worth the alarm clock.