An upslope storm reaches Thornton sideways — cold air sliding off the northeast plains, stalling against the Front Range, and unloading all night on a town with nothing to break the wind. By four in the morning the drifts have found every driveway apron along 120th, and headlights are the only color out there. Arvada Snow runs the plow through those hours: driveways opened, walks shoveled to the concrete, entries and steps treated so nobody goes down on the way to the car. There is a specific pride in the moment the blade finishes a turnaround and the pavement shows black under the streetlight while the neighborhood is still asleep. Come sunrise, the storm is somebody else's story and the drive is simply clear.