Munger Hill gathers weather the way a bowl gathers rain, and by ten on a January night the streets up there have gone white and gone quiet. That is the hour A.R. King Enterprises LLC is out in it — headlights swinging through the squall, blade down, walkways opened, salt laid where the grade wants to turn to glass. Westfield is a city of short steep driveways, and each one asks for a slightly different angle of attack. The work ends where it should end: at bare blacktop, edges clean, the mailbox still standing. Morning finds the hill passable, and nobody has to think about it.