Even Misha Kachman’s detailed set, with parking-lot light poles towering above the store like electric redwoods, seems to elevate utilitarian American design to something like accidental art. (The lighting by Colin K. Bills is also used to optimal effect.) In a workplace that serves as a bulwark against imagination, it’s no wonder Hunter’s characters include Cabezas’s Leroy, a college art student and part-time salesman whose portfolio largely consists of T-shirts emblazoned with obscenities.

Corporate torpor is a popular motif in American plays and films, and frequently takes on a sinister cast, whether in the social comedies of Neil Labute (“Reasons to Be Pretty”) or a movie thriller such as “One Hour Photo” — set in a discount store so sanitized it makes a Target look like an outdoor flea market. So Hunter, a New York playwright who was raised in rural Idaho, is not unveiling a dehumanizing environment that we have not seen before. You’ll no doubt find familiar the undercurrent of menace that infuses the banal decor of the Hobby Lobby, the chain store in which the play takes place.

But Hunter has such highly sensitive antennae for the look and rhythm of mundane places that “A Bright New Boise” develops an authentic texture, separate from other pieces in its genre. Each voice in the play, with Vreeke’s encouragement, is distinct and remains true to itself. The singsong of the suits on closed-circuit; the potty mouth of the store manager, Townley’s Pauline; the high-pitched anxiety of Gilbert’s socially inept loud talker, Anna; the disconcerting lack of affect shown by young Alex, expertly embodied by Morgan; these collectively contribute to the mosaic Hunter assembles, which feels at once all too emblematic of a desiccated culture — and all too creepy.

The play, though, is essentially Will’s. In the guise of the kindly looking Russotto, Will’s an innocuous presence, a guy no more special than the styrofoam and cardboard stuff filling the store aisles. He’s hired on the spot by Townley, terrific here as a supervisor with more on the ball than you’re initially led to think. Soon enough, some disturbing history is revealed about Will’s association with a renegade church in northern Idaho — and a horrible past incident involving a young parishioner that turned the congregation’s members into pariahs. But escape into anonymity is not the entirety of Will’s mission at the Hobby Lobby. It’s a more personal quest whose nature won’t be divulged here.

The piece, in a sense, is about the havoc that can be wreaked by blind, even vengeful faith, in this instance to a church wrapped up in a prophecy of apocalypse. As the drama unfolds, Will slowly lets his co-workers in on his vision of the Rapture that he’s depending on coming soon, an End of Times that’s bleak and fierce and punitive — a satisfying fantasy for a man who seems to have known nothing but disappointment.