Nearly flawless story in current New Yorker - Kevin Canty

Don't know much about Kevin Canty, well nothing really except the brief bio note in current New Yorker, and I guess I've read a few of his pieces that may have been in the NYer or elsewhere in recent years, but his story in current New Yorker, Mayfly, is the only one I can recall right now and it's quite impressive - short, tight, well-paced, believable, striking in some ways. On some level it's pretty familiar terrain: a young (unmarried and childless) couple travel for a weekend visit to another (married, slightly older, 3 kids) couple, both relationships unhappy ones, a la Tolstoy, each in its own way, and the lines criss-cross in some surprising ways during the short visit. What's impressive to me is how efficiently Canty tells this story - it's material that could be stretched out to novel (or feature film) length, but the gain in length would I think be a loss in impact. His spare style evokes other great western writers (he apparently teaches in Montana, and story, though beginning in Utah, mostly takes place in rural Colorado), especially McGuane, even Carver, and, inevitably if you're going to include fly fishing in your story which he does, Hemingway - not to say Canty's on those Olympian levels but that's the field he's working. I don't want to give anything away in the story, but let's just say that over the course of the weekend the central character - the guy in the couple making the visit - learns some things about his girlfriend, about the guy he's visiting (an old college or grad-school friend), and about himself; story ends a short time later as he and his girlfriend are trying to reconstruct their relationship - and with a very intriguing and unusual "objective correlative," in this case a pair of striped panties (which I doubt Eliot ever considered as a likely objective correlative) that will always remind him of the difficult weekend and of the knife edge on which his current relationship rests. If there's a flaw in the story, I'd say it was the brief opening section when they're crossing the desert and driving through a cloud of migrating Monarchs - a very forced image that didn't reveal enough about the characters or their relationships - story could well have begun on arrival at friends' house. And why do the women smoke? Not too many do so these days, and smoking always seems to me like an authorial convenience, giving the characters something to do so that you don't get a series of he said, she said in dialogue.