Lucky Now did not wake up surprised by snow.
Snow had been around.
Snow had made itself comfortable.
This was not new snow.
This was more snow.
The kind that shows up uninvited, doesn’t say how long it’s staying, and immediately starts rearranging your plans.
People went to bed aware of this.
They woke up irritated anyway.
Main Street had been plowed early. Not aggressively early. Just early enough to feel intentional. Clean lines. Sharp edges. Confident.
Every other street looked like winter had shrugged and said, “We’ll circle back.”
The silence lasted exactly as long as it took someone to check outside.
Then someone checked Facebook.
Then someone checked someone else’s street.
That’s when it began.
“Interesting,” someone posted.
That was enough.
Within minutes, Lucky Now was fully engaged in its long-standing winter tradition:
assuming snowplow routes are personal.
People compared notes.
“Main Street’s been done twice.”
“My street hasn’t been touched.”
“I saw the plow slow down and then just… leave.”
“It definitely came down here and changed its mind.”
Tracks became evidence.
Theories followed.
The plow driver lived nearby.
The plow driver avoided certain streets on principle.
The plow followed a rotating schedule.
The plow followed energy.
Someone insisted it was budget-related.
Someone else insisted it was revenge.
Photos started appearing.
Not good ones.
Urgent ones.
Photos taken through fogged windshields.
Photos taken at strange angles.
Photos taken while pointing dramatically at tire marks.
Each caption said some version of:
“Just saying.”
Nugs attempted to leave his driveway.
He did not leave.
Instead, he became a reference point.
Cars slowed.
Someone waved.
Another person yelled, “You’re gonna need a shovel!”
Fern watched from her doorway, unimpressed.
Snowplows were never late.
They were selective.
Around noon, the plow showed up on a street nobody had mentioned online.
This was unacceptable.
“Oh so they get plowed?”
“Who even lives there?”
“Must be nice.”
No one knew who they were, but everyone agreed they were benefiting unfairly.
By late afternoon, the snow eased up.
Then, without ceremony, the plow returned.
Every street.
Every lane.
Clean. Efficient. Silent.
No announcement.
No explanation.
No apology.
Lucky Now went quiet.
For exactly twelve minutes.
Then someone posted:
“Let’s see how fast they’re out next time.”
Lucky Now nodded.
Winter wasn’t new.
Neither was this.
And everyone knew they’d do it all again next snowfall.