It was a bonding thing. A mother-daughter thing. They didn’t have much in common any more. The mother still had problems getting the pronouns right and kept mentioning the wrong feminist icon from her own teenage years. They’d grown apart. So the weekly visit was a chance to share something. The daughter laughed as the screens pulled in the latest from her feeds and passed her along to an aisle she rarely visited. The ‘grams shifted in time with the prices. Elsewhere their mother followed her own journey, timed perfectly to meet at the coffee bar for some quality time.