WRINGER Literary Devices 2

Like peanut butter and pickles, they didn't mix.

Their shadows snagged on potholes and pulled like black taffy in the old parking lot.

They were a whisper through the nighttime town.

The light from the setting sun seemed a spectacular raspberry dessert.

He did not stop nor look at her, but charged with a clatter onto the road.

Tapping. Again, next morning.

There it was, the world's dumbest bird. . .

Palmer fired a final cannonball. It splattered white against the red coat.

He stayed through a thousand tocks of the unseen clock, and another thousand. . .

'Cause I ain't ten till I get The Treatment.

Who would have thought one miserable winged rat had so many colors?

It kinda looked like a crow to me.

Palmer, Beans, Mutto, and Henry made a quadruple-decker sandwich on the new sled.