At four in the morning the wind comes up the East River and finds Astoria first, sliding under the Hell Gate arch and across the Ditmars rooftops. That is the hour Queens Snow Removal is already out, headlights on, pushing the night's accumulation off driveways and into neat banks at the curb. There is a plain satisfaction in a block where every apron is cut clean and the sidewalk squares reappear one by one, dark and walkable, before the first coffee is poured. Salt goes down on the steps and on the shady side of the street, where the sun will not reach until noon. By the time the buses start running on Ditmars Boulevard, the day belongs to the people who live here again.