When Lindsay Hunter’s first book, Daddy’s, came out, I found myself directing numerous readers to her story “Kid.” Foul-mouthed, alive with prose, and occasionally hilarious, it followed a teenage boy’s adventures on a trip to a local convenience store, growing progressively more surreal (and boundary-pushing) as it progressed towards its climax. Hunter’s command of language, setting, and character continue with her new collection, DON’T KISS ME. Here, the characters are often delusional: in “Our Man,” a hapless detective badly investigating a murder; […]