A storm has a sound before it has depth: wipers, the low drone off Route 46, salt crunching under tires on an otherwise silent road. NRGplowing runs on those hours, pushing driveways open, taking walkways down to the surface and treating the ice that sets in behind a storm's tail. Plowing is repetition — same drive, same angle, four passes, next house — and the drive to keep going comes from knowing what an open apron means to somebody trying to get to work. Snow keeps falling, so the route runs again. By morning the streets look like the storm was less trouble than it actually was.