A storm gives itself away at the end — the flakes thin out, the wind drops, and the cul-de-sacs off the schoolhouse roads go blue in the last of the light. That is when The Final Cut Inc makes the pass that counts. Anyone can open a lane at the height of it; the work worth doing is the closing one, the drive taken back to full width, the apron squared where the village plow left its ridge, the walk scraped and salted from the step to the street. New Lenox has a way of exhaling once the sky clears, porch lights coming on one after another down the block. Behind the trucks the pavement lies dark and clean, and nobody has to think about it again until the next one comes.