Hard-boiled crime fiction similes that might have been used by a trainspotting-enthused crime fiction novelist
Hillier grabbed her and kissed her, long and hard, like the press of carriage wheels on a cold iron track. Then, as the night fell, they coupled furiously – fierce, clanging and smoothly efficient.
He screamed as the bullet struck his thigh, a loud roar like the sudden release of steam from a disused shunt neck clack valve.
She had legs that didn’t quit like pistons on 279-T.
A shot rang out, a sharp crack like the sound of wrench being dropped down the anterior funnel of Pullman Firebird locomotive.
He drove his fist into McNab’s solar-plexus which was soft and yielding, like the velour cushion on the top bunk of a first class sleeping car on the Canadian-Pacific.
She walked in as if she owned the joint, like a nineteenth century rail baron paying a surprise inspection visit to a little-used southern Illinois freight-yard.
‘You’re finished, McTeague, washed-up, like the NER Uniflow Locomotive No 825 of 1913 when the NER Uniflow Locomotive No 2212 of 1919 came along.’
Bonus extra: a hard-boiled crime fiction simile that might be used by a female crime fiction novelist who is married to a trainspotting-enthused crime fiction novelist:
She trained his gun on him, taking careful pleasure in the sudden reversal of roles. "You're like a train,' she observed acidly, "a big fat dumb stinky stupid train, full of fat dumb idiots with serious hygiene and inter-personal communication issues." As she tightened her slender finger around the ring-like trigger guard, how she laughed, oh how she laughed.