A.C. DeLashmutt

A.C. DeLashmutt is a Virginian living in New York. Her writing has appeared in McSweeney's, The Washington Post, theNewerYork, Flash magazine, and elsewhere. She also writes plays. Follow her on Twitter @acdelashmutt.
The Weather

Waldo

I always walk into Washington Square Park from the southwest corner, the chess quadrant, where big men in do-rags hock games like fruit vendors. “You sir! You look like a chess player. Yessir, you do. How…

The Weather

Sickness Meeting Cure

At a party a few weeks ago, a stranger said to me: “Tell me about yourself.” So I told him where I live, and what I do, and I added that my favorite sandwich these days…

The Weather

Fire Escape

In my dream, a woman is screaming.  Wake up! Wake up! Wake up Commerce Street! Wake up! Wake up! Wake up! Then I am not awake but I am at my window and I see orange…

The Weather

Highs and Lymphomas

Mountain Standard Time: Saturday, 8:15 pm I am a wedding guest. Someone hands me a glass of champagne. I am smiling in a sea of cashmere and class rings.  This morning I flew into a tiny airport…

Welcome to Our Home

The Bath

When you walk down the street in the small town you grew up in, you are never merely yourself. You are you, but you are also your affiliated multitudes: yourself at five, your mother, yourself at…

The Weather

The Art of the Stoop

There’s an attitude to summertime loitering that takes a certain knack. Call it, “the art of the stoop.” I like slouching—I’m excellent at slouching—or leaning, or lounging. And until the climate changes, there’s no question of sitting like a…

Welcome to Our Home

The Library

I despise libraries. Where other people see shelves of treasures, I see a gallery of horrors. Just look at the west wall of our library as an example; it’s lined floor to ceiling with books. Up…

Travels

Destination

When I was little, my family and I lived aboard a boat for two years, and we traveled close to the mosquito-fogged jungle coastline of Central and South America. Our boat was a motor yacht, a…

The Weather

Outsider

The midnight streets of Chincoteague have an almost post-apocalyptic emptiness. The air is wet and the streetlamps slime the cracked gray sidewalks in orange light. Houses line the street but nothing moves in them: no TVs…

Welcome to Our Home

The East Parlor

Nearly every room in Acorn Hill has one or two items of furniture that look a lot like chairs, but actually aren’t. Many is the time we’ve thrown out a hand and stopped someone with “Oh,…

The Weather

Pornstache

Addictions are for suckers, Tom. Who needs drugs when you’ve got novels? If you want a dissociative experience, drop a little DFW.  Drugs are for illness and drugs are for fun, but they’re not for use…

The Weather

EnTropy

Tom, in your most recent letter to that most noble of men, your friend Jake, you refer in passing to electrons. You were on your way to making a larger point about biology and men and…

Welcome to Our Home

The Front Hall

Immediately after stepping through the front door of Acorn Hill, a visitor will be fixed in the Cyclopean glare of a grandfather clock. It is one of three on the first floor, a triumvirate attended by…

The Weather

Walk-up

New York is well-known as a place of sub-cultures, niche markets, intimate venues, exclusive restaurants, minority voters, and studio apartments. A square block may contain any number of discrete experiences that would delight a few and repulse many. In…

Welcome to Our Home

Welcome

Welcome to our home, Acorn Hill. Acorn Hill was built for a Great Man nearly two hundred years ago. Most people see the house as a monument to him; its columns uphold his legacy, the tall…