The smell of rotten flesh hangs in the air. Blood seeps out of a secluded storm drain curling its way into Newtown Creek, mixing slowly with the oily layer that is visible in so much of this waterway in the heart of New York City.

There was no defining moment in David Woods’ twenty-two year relationship with his wife that made him realize that he was a victim of domestic violence. It was a gradual process that led to the point where his wife doubled up her fist and hit him in the face for the first time.

When Camden pianist Mark Pampel’s fingers slide over the keys of the piano at his weekly gig at Hugo’s restaurant in Notting Hill, his hearing aids often pick up conversations about him in the background.

If an apartment’s entrance door ever tells you something about the person who lives in it, Marie Runyon’s door speaks volumes. Like a notice board at a student union, it is plastered with signs like “Question Authority”, “Never mind the Dog: Beware of the Owner“ and “Do not bomb Iraq”.