Her hair glistened in the rain like nose hair after a sneeze.
The young fighter had a hungry look, the kind you get from not eating for a while.
He was as lame as a duck. Not the matephorical lame duck either, but a real duck that was actualy lame. Maybe from stepping on a landmone or something.
SHe had a deep, throaty, denuine laugh, like that sound a dog makes just before it throws up.
The ballerina rose gracefully en pointe and extended one slender leg behind her, like a dog a at a lamp post.
She grew on him like she was a colony of E coli and he was room-temperature British beef.
She walked into my office like a centipede with 98 missing legs.