It’s one o’clock-did you see it? Every light in the French Quarter dimmed and flickered. The annual hour of limbo-sixty minutes that don’t exist.
Sixty blessed minutes to mingle
Tonight’s that night…when the fragile wall splinters. The streets flood with tragically damaged, hopelessly fractured and eternally lost souls who never find peace-not even in death.
Sixty fleeting minutes to roam.
Master vampires extend their hands, packs of wolves open their hearts, ancient covens lay down their magic and have a nightcap with a one-eyed ghost.