Four in the morning on the Marquette hills, and the streetlights are just cones of falling white. Breaking Grime Bros works those grades before the first commuter tries them — plowing driveways, clearing walks down to the pavement, laying salt and sand where a slope wants to turn to glass. Lake Superior throws its snow in sideways bands off the open water, and a single night can bury a driveway twice over; the answer is simply to come back. There is a specific satisfaction in black asphalt framed by clean banks, cut square at the apron, waiting for a car that never has to slow down. By the time the east sky goes gray over the lake, the route is finished and the coffee is finally worth drinking.