On Tipperary Hill the traffic light wears green above red, and the streets that fall away from it run steep enough that a February morning turns them into something to be reckoned with. The Outside Guys work those grades before the city is properly awake, pushing snow back past the curb line so the first car out of the driveway has nothing to argue with. Come May the same driveways sit beside grass that grows fast in a wet Syracuse spring, and the mower goes down in long clean lines with the trim pulled tight to the fence posts. There is a plain pleasure in the moment a yard goes from shaggy to squared away in a single afternoon. Lake-effect bands can bury one block and leave the next one dry, and reading that is half of knowing how to run a winter route through this city.