Jerome's life is humdrum, mundane even. Every day he catches the bus to work, listens to his best friend, Nav, rant on about the latest crisis in his life and tries to stop his attention from wandering to the gorgeous guy at the back of the bus too often. After all it would be embarrassing to get caught staring. Friday morning had been no different. Except that the object of his blatant attention was definitely making eye contact, his Asian best friend had involved the entire bus in a racist rant against the East Europeans and Jerome appeared to have been struck dumb. Now two days later Jerome's run out of milk and all the local shops are shut except for the Polskie Delikatesy. Jerome's hanging about on the pavement, studying adverts in the window which appear to be made up of far too many Zs & Ks, and wondering if he could do without milk for the evening. Stepping through the door brings Jerome face to face with the realisation that racism isn't just about rants and rallies, but is inherent in thoughts and deeds, things said, or even in silence. That being a target for other people's prejudice because of his sexuality, doesn't mean he's immune from false and pre-conceived notions. If he can come to terms with that and accept that everyone -- even a gay liberal trainee journalist -- might be just a little bit racist, then maybe, just maybe, he could be going home with more than a pint of milk.