The sentences that tend to bliss me out are the very short ones. On page six of Lindsay Hunter’s debut novel, Ugly Girls, I read this: “The night was warm as a mouth.” That’s it. I put the book down for a second. Then I picked it back up again and stared at the sentence, to make sure I didn’t misread it the first time. I took a picture of the sentence. I tweeted the photo, more to convince myself that the sentence exists than anything else. So short. So evocative. You know exactly what Hunter means; you’ve stood in that salivary evening air, felt it licking you. Ugly Girls is full of hot, wet familiarity like that. It’s the story of two teenage girls, Perry and Baby Girl, and their minor-league crime spree across a dingy Southern town that seems to be located—spiritually, if not geographically—in Harry Crews’s Florida…