estoy bien

Every morning (or close to it) I walk past a restaurant on 16th St. tucked between 5th ave and Broadway. There is a short Hispanic man that works there, cleaning and straightening up before the doors open. Without fail, at the moment I happen to be walking by, he glances up. If he's outside spraying down the sidewalks he'll yell "Hola mamacita! Como estas mi amor?" and I'll yell back "HOLA. I'm good!" If he happens to be inside, we settle instead for furiously waiving at one another.

I don't remember how or when we established this routine of ours, but I love it more than words can say.