The (Arnaud Chagall, Dillon Rossi & Jake Steel)

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Hey y'all, Jake Jaxson here. Getting bigger up in South Louisiana, we enjoyed to tell stories. There was nothing nicer than a excellent older fashioned ghost story and I particularly enjoyed it when Halloween came around. We lived in an older creaky palace in the Garden District of Fresh Orleans that would send a chill up anyone's spine who ambled inside, and my engaged imagination became over-stimulated. Doors opened on their own, sprays of cold on a super-fucking-hot day, footsteps and expresses coming from empty rooms... it was all the norm. Once, a friend who stayed over bust into my apartment out of breath with fear in his eyes -- he had just experienced the perceiving of being confined down in his couch and not being able to get up, as if someone was sitting on him, clamping and spanking him (No, it wasn't me! At least not that time!). Was our palace ? I think so... there was certainly something there... real or imagined.