He's also this cocky self-absorbed man trapped in the body of a humble looking creature. I guess just the prick-ish sparkle underneath those goggles can make you guess he's not such a nice guy, after all.
And the smile is killeresque. It kills all puffy hopes and turns all milky white dreams in sloppiness of the mind.
I love Woody Moody Allen. He just spits with great elegance on all human day dreaming, turning them into chimeras. I love his way because he makes you wanna smile and day dream even more after you listen to him.
I guess this is why I'm waiting for Moody Woody every summer. As promised, he shows up every single year. Only for the summer. Along with him comes this I don't really care-ist breeze that turns innocent girls in walking dangers, as my mom warned me about Woody once: Do not trust this guy, he even slept with his step daughter!. How awful, I thought back then. Until I met him. Until I listened to Woody. And then his Moody got to me.
The thing is I got used to waiting him in Paris or Rome and that was convenient, me being European. This year I should be expecting him in San Francisco. It's gonna be a bit of a long trip.
And I'm wondering if I should wear flowers in my hair. I mean, I really would like to, but then again...what would Woody say? I don't know if I mentioned, but he's a bit moody.