The big storms reach White Plains from the southeast, spun up over Long Island Sound and thrown inland heavy and wet. Argento & Sons watches that sky the way other people watch a clock, because a lot on Mamaroneck Avenue has to be open and gritted before the first car turns in. The work is plowing, stacking the piles where the melt won't run back across the drive, hand-clearing the walks, and laying salt where shade keeps ice alive all day. Between passes the trucks circle back through the side streets, widening what the last round narrowed. When the storm finally quits, the pavement is dark again and the day is simply allowed to happen.