James Wannerton runs a pub in England and tastes words. Say the name Derek in his presence and he gets a mouthful of earwax; another regular's name brings on the sensation of wet nappies. He has synesthesia, a condition in which the senses cross wires, and this film sits with him and with Dorothy Latham, who sees every letter in a fixed color even when the page in front of her is plain black and white, and watches spoken words unfurl as a moving strip of colored text in her mind. Interviews with both let them describe, in their own words, what a name or a sound actually produces for them, while the film traces how synesthesia went from a curiosity dismissed alongside séances to a recognized subject of study. The focus stays narrow and personal rather than clinical: two people, their daily sensory experience, and what it suggests about how flexible perception can be even when it looks, from the outside, like one sense at a time.