High Street lies along a low ridge above Newburyport, and in a storm the whole city seems to tip toward it, snow sliding sideways past the old Federal doorways. Clarkco spends those mornings on the streets that drop away from that ridge toward the river, plowing drives out to the pavement and cutting the walkways down to bare surface. Most of it is finished before the coffee shops unlock; a plow route is a map you learn by feel, one turnaround and one tight corner at a time. What gets left behind is simple and good — a driveway you can back out of without thinking, and no wall of packed slush where the town plow went by. The Atlantic keeps sending weather up the coast all winter, and Clarkco keeps heading back out into it.