Descriptive Writing

Her thoughts tumbled like sneakers in a dryer.

Despite her college degree, she had a limited vocabulary, like, whatever, Dude.

She hurled epitaphs at him as he went out the door. 

She threw up her hands while he shoved his in his pockets trying to get ahold of himself. 

He grew on her like a germ culture in a petri dish.

The boy and girl in the coffee shop were made for each other.  She had a laugh like a hyena approaching a carcass; his was a more refined bray.

He spun into his break dance like a buffalo in a dust bath with ground hogs cheering.

She fell for him fast and hard, like a bug hitting the windshield of a race car in the Indianapolis 500. 

Seriously now.  I am thankful for and indebted to good editors.