My shovel snapped in a Rosemont snowbank and a neighbour brought his spare

My shovel broke in a snowbank in Rosemont at eight in the morning. The man from the third floor came out with two, handed me one, and we dug until the street was clear without exchanging more than ten words. He asked if I wanted a coffee. We drank it standing in the snow. It has been three winters. We still share the shovel, and we still do not exchange more than ten words. I think that is why we like each other.