*looks back at you calmly, with a thousand questions in his eyes nonetheless* Good. Yours? (Your week, your month, your year?)
*accessibly (maybe you only came over out of some feeling of obligation but he's no good at holding grudges), as the waitress returns bearing the perfect pint (head at exactly the right level, settled and then topped-off)* You hungry? *fishes the menu from between the napkin holder and ketchup bottle and pushes it toward you*