The bad weather comes at Egg Harbor City from the ocean side, spinning up the coast until the wind swings around and the first flakes go sideways across the White Horse Pike. BlackJack Construction works the hours nobody else wants — one in the morning, three, the plow light throwing orange on empty storefronts while the storm keeps stacking it up. A driveway cleared before the alarm goes off, walkways opened wide enough for a wheelchair or a mail carrier, a lot scraped down so the first car in has nothing to think about: that is the whole point of the night. Twelve miles from the beach the snow arrives heavy and wet, then freezes hard by morning, so the passes get made early and made again. When the sky finally clears over the pines and the streets are black and open, there is nothing better to look at.