The Girl in the Dream… the One Who Woke Me

…My Dream from a few nights ago

A few nights ago…
I found myself in this place…
in my sleep…

I was walking…

It was a quiet… quaint neighborhood—
that felt familiar…

Middle class…
working people…
doing much life here…

I wasn’t alone…

There was a beautiful young blonde girl—
probably around 17…

…and her two younger sisters…
maybe 12 or 13…

…and a young boy…
around 10…

I’ve never seen any of them before…

—but they knew me…

…they felt like my friends…

So I accepted them…

We all were walking along…
talking… laughing…

Life felt so easy…
so simple…

As if I had nowhere to be—
nothing else to do…

…and if I did…
whatever… or wherever…
—it could wait…

I felt younger too…
maybe 18… 20…

As the five of us slowly moved down the street…
just talking…

The older girl asked me—

“Do you know my father?”

I didn’t…

I didn’t even know her…

Then she asked—

“What kind of man do you think he is?”

So I thought for a second…

And judging by his daughter…
by her character in my dream…

I figured him for a good man—

hard working…
loved his family…

She said—

“Yes… you are correct…
he is all these things…”

Then she looked deep into my eyes…
smiled…

…gently placed her hand in mine—

just to hold… as we walked…

Then she rested her head
on my shoulder…

…and I felt something—
light…
soft…

…caressing my neck…

All of a sudden—

I snapped back…
to reality—

I thought of my girlfriend…

My real one…
in real life…

I could see her face in my mind…

I felt my love for her—
she filled me…

I felt so bad…

Like I was doing something wrong—
with this other girl… even in a dream…

I tried to free myself…
pull my hand away—

…but it wasn’t that easy…

I started to panic…
just a little…

And then—

I woke up…

Thinking about my lady…

—My real one 😎’`

my current finger situation

Genesis 28:16
“Surely the Lord is in this place, and I did not know it.”

© 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.

`’.,°~