A young Black British man drives his car through a London landscape with skill as his music blares. His old lanyard that exposes his profession as a pharmacist dangles on the rearview mirror, bouncing to the beat of his music. He is willing it to be a good day. But as he approaches his destination, the cracks begin to show.

Our lead believes he needs to commit to his job. He wants to be good at his work, so he plasters on his smile and enters his pharmacy. We meet an array of patients of all backgrounds and needs. Ahwan, who’d like a free sample of Viagra. Grace, a patient with an infectious rash she’d like to share with Michael. Literally. And Mrs. Patmore, who swears she’s lost all feeling but probably hasn’t. How apt.

As all of these patients and more meander in and out of the pharmacy having their issues solved, one thing remains true: He is a mess. As he tries to push through the day, attempting with the little pockets of time he can slither to make desperate personal calls and practice coping mechanisms, the demands of his day grow and his ability to maintain mental fortitude dissipates. Distance from his family. His partner asking for a divorce. His own depression. All compartmentalized and pushed to the side at the wake of his work.

Through the day, as every day, he is supported by his colleague Serina, the dispenser, who sees more of Michael’s pain than she might let on. By the end, however, we realize just how much he has lost in love, in family, in time by choosing to run from what he really needs — to be honest with himself. He’s only human, and sometimes you’re just not OK.