Arlo licks his lips after burning his throat with coffee (PNW winters will never warm up for him, he's convinced) and rests his elbows on the counter so he can lean over and inspect her work. "Everywhere we can shove 'em, ma'am. So are you keeping a tally of your good pokes of the day?" As in, and most importantly: "Are you winning?"

At exactly what?
Against who?
It doesn't really matter.