A mother and her young son are at Ikea, looking at furniture. The little boy seems uncommonly mature: commenting on the design, measuring units, even flirting with the sales woman. When it’s time to pay, he’s got it covered. They go outside to a van, where the boy gets behind the wheel. In a change of perspective we see that he’s a young man – only in his mother’s imagination is he still a little boy. “Mum, I’m only moving around the corner,” he tells her. “I know,” she says quietly, clearly filled with nostalgia. At Ikea, prices remain small forever.
