You don’t want to fuck with me, officer.

Yes I’m old, and dressed like a poor man.

I’m on foot instead of riding in a shiny car.

But I look like this and act this way because of my choices.

I have a shiny car. I have a big truck. I have a van with a bed in it, and a cargo trailer, and even a house.

But wealth made me fat and I’m walking to get rid of it.

The fat. All that comes with it too.

I am filming this interaction, as is my right, as a still marginally free citizen of the state that bought your gun.

Your shiny gun.

Your Indian killer gun; your geronimo-deporting badge we don’t need no.

I don’t want to fuck with you.

You don’t want to fuck with me even though I am not that guy.

In spite of my appearances, I am not one of the vulnerable droids you’re looking for. To fuck with the way you and your kind do.

So just be yourself. Your best self.

And resolve to not end up reflecting on this day ruefully.