all the right moves in all the right [p]laces

[Jefferson Soul]

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What was she, braindead? The man cast a look of mixed frustration and sheer confusion on her, not at all expecting such a question in response to his typical badmouthery. She looked old enough, about Pripyat's age perhaps, and the boy would have known the meaning of such cussing even if his father hadn't been so goddamned horrible at keeping his mouth shut while the boy grew up. The Patriarch's perplexed look shifted slowly to amusement, and with a scoff the man shook his head and started away.

"Whatever you think it means," he shrugged, waving tattered fingers over his shoulder, "don't do it."

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