Long before Bowles Avenue wakes, one set of headlights works its way down a Littleton side street, and behind it lies a clean dark stripe where the driveway had been white. That hour belongs to Anderson Express: plow down, exhaust hanging in the cold, the whole town still under its covers. Storms here can drop a foot overnight and then sit grinning under blue sun by mid-morning, which is exactly why the early pass matters — what gets moved before daylight never packs into ice. They clear driveways, walks and lots around Littleton, pushing the banks back far enough that the next storm still has room to land. The payoff is small and perfect: someone steps outside at seven, and the way to the car is already open.