How a mother of two ended up in a plot to smuggle high-tech gear to the enemy.
In life and death, tattoo artist Kauri Tiyme made her mark.
Amy Neustein never could resist going public with her family dramas.
A visit with the hurricane victims that a country forgot.
She hated men, she says, even before she got into stripping, after a relationship rife with betrayal. Through dancing, she has gained confidence.
"There's nothing I can't do now," she asserts. "I can walk up to just about anybody or stand in the middle of the stage and say whatever I want and not need to be like, 'Imagine the crowd is naked.' I'm standing here naked. Who gives a shit!"
If men are willing to dole out dollars on their lunch breaks, she's willing to take them. "I dance because I enjoy it, not because you're watching me."
But, sitting before me, Kamren has an expression as glum as the one she wears onstage. She gathers her long, wavy hair with her hand and sweeps it down her back. Legs crossed, she flits a high-heeled foot like she's waiting for the next Greyhound bus out.