Alphabet Pasta by Drew HuntIt was a Friday night and Giuseppe’s Italian restaurant was busy. Opera played on the sound system but was almost entirely drowned out by the hum of conversation, laughter, and the scrape of silverware on plates. The place was full. Waitstaff moved back and forth carrying trays of food. Near the entrance, a knot of people stood at the bar, drinks in hand.
Garth Morgan and Tony Luciano were in their favorite booth at the back of the restaurant. It was the first time the two of them had been able to go out on a date since the horrific events at the Pulse nightclub in Florida two weeks before.
The morning after the shooting, Adam, Garth’s ten-year-old son, came into their room and crawled into bed between them. It seemed Adam had gotten up to watch cartoons but th
