The Day I Found a Table Full of Money

If you had an unlimited budget for 24 hours, what would you do?

This prompt reminded me of a story that happened to me years ago…

I was probably 19 or 20 years old. Early ’90s.

My uncle owned a tree cutting and removal company, and every now and then he’d call me if he needed an extra hand. One spring, Atlanta got hit with some nasty weather. High winds came through and left trees down all over the place.

We spent the day working in some of the high-end neighborhoods around Buckhead. On one particular street, there were trees down everywhere. My uncle and I split up and started knocking on doors to see if anyone needed our services.

One property caught my attention.

A massive oak tree had fallen across the front yard. The place was beautiful. A long winding driveway climbed a hill to a huge old house that looked like something out of a movie.

So I made the walk up.

It seemed to take forever.

When I finally got to the front door, I noticed it was open. I stopped for a second and called out.

“Hello? Anybody home?”

Nothing.

I knocked a few times.

Still nothing.

I called out again.

Nothing.

So I leaned my head just inside the doorway.

All the lights were on.

And sitting in the middle of the room was a large table.

Now that was strange enough.

But what was on the table was stranger.

The entire thing was covered in stacks of cash.

Not a few piles.

Stacks and stacks of money.

The table was loaded with it.

To this day I have no idea how much was sitting there, but it was more money than I’d ever seen in one place in my life.

Naturally, all kinds of thoughts started running through my head.

This just isn’t a situation a person finds themselves in very often.

But along with the surprise came a strange feeling that I shouldn’t be there.

Something told me it was time to leave.

So I left.

End of story.

As for the prompt itself…

I’d use it to help people who actually need it.

The funny thing is, I can still do this without an unlimited budget.

Every little bit helps.

Every little bit counts.

© 2026 Bryan Loia Hudson. All Rights Reserved.

`’.,°~

OutKasted — Then Gone With The Wind — Atlanta Nights

There was a bar on the Southside of Atlanta—
named after Scarlett O’Hara.

A name that still means something—here.

The owner was a big fan of the movie—
you could feel it in the name… the vibe… the whole place.

A fiery, drunken piece of history.

Like it had been there longer than it hadn’t.

Margaret Mitchell still lived in the bones of that place.
Her city.
Her story.
Her shadow.

And in the mid 90’s.

O’Hara’s was the spot.

Packed most nights—
the kind of place that had its own pull.

Lights low
Laughs loud
Song and dance soaked in whiskey—
beer… and sweet drinks of every color.

A place where stories were made—
not told.
This one included.

Me and two of my good buddies—
grew up together…
went to school together—
now doing grown man stuff together.

We spent most weekends here.

But there was this guy…
his mind was set—
he wanted trouble with my boy…
and he just wasn’t gonna quit.

All night—
on us…
pressing…
running his mouth.

Alright though…
was just words.

We left it alone…
stayed cool…
tried to anyway.

I even tried to squash it—
real calm… real respectful.

To him… that was weak.

And some… they read silence wrong.

On our way to the car…
it wasn’t looking good…

dude right behind us.

Words turned into steps—
steps about to turn to hands.

I knew what was coming…

and yep… he did it—
put his hands on my friend.

I was hoping—for him—he’d choose bigger.

That was all I needed.

I locked on him—

threw him over the hood—

let my hands go.

Fast.
Clean.
Final.

And just like that—
it was done.

He slid off the hood…
out cold.

I didn’t leave him—
I don’t roll like that.

We picked him up—
got him off the pavement…
laid him in the grass—
made sure he was alright.

Checked his breathing…
made sure he was with us.

Then we went back in—
let the people working there know what happened.

Stayed put till he came to.

But just between you and me…

frankly…

back then…

I just didn’t give a damn.

Then…
we were gone—

with the wind.

The Original Eminem… Atlantas Own… Margaret Mitchell
Rear view of the MM house from Crescent Avenue

You can plan a pretty picnic…

but you can’t predict the weather.

© 2026 Bryan Loia Hudson. All rights reserved.

`’.,°~