Rochester, New York City
The year was 2015, and Tatum, who was twenty-three years old then, had just returned from military service after fulfilling his contractual obligation. He found himself in a club in his beloved Rochester, surrounded by friends and a bevy of attractive women with big breasts with perfect implants, slim waist, surgically carved wide hips and fake bottoms, with heavy makeup, sexy clothes that showed so much skin, expensive perfumes on them that lingered despite the atmosphere in the club, as their hands clasped expensive purses symbolizing a level of wealth and status.
The air was thick with alcohol and the pulsing beats of music echoed through the room, the atmosphere alive with energy and laughter. It was a scene of excess and licentiousness, a far cry from the d
