Look! A brown person, likely a gang member in the country illegally. There’s a gay guy, no doubt on a mission to groom and corrupt.

That one’s homeless, probably looking for something to steal so he can score booze or drugs.

Over there’s a cop, just waiting for someone vulnerable upon whom he can exercise his nominal authority to oppress.

That’s me. That’s you. That’s how someone sees us. It might be how we see one another.

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“Why do you have to swear at me?” the cop asked. I could have said I didn’t actually have to, but that I was feeling whimsical. And talking to myself, besides.

“I guess I’m not up to being harassed just yet.”

“No one is harassing you. We’re just doing a wellness check.” That must be what they call it when someone doesn’t like your looks and wants the police to move you on without a valid complaint.

“How much have you had to drink today?” he asks.

“It’s nine-thirty in the morning,” I respond, looking around in vain for any indication of anyone drinking anything. “And I don’t drink.”

“How come you’re slurring your words then?”

I could have explained that I had just awakened. I might have lied and claimed a speech impediment, since he’d never spoken to me before he had no idea of how I usually peak. I might have truthfully informed him that I grind my teeth at night and have bitten my tongue so much it looks like a piece of heavily masticated, too-tough-to-swallow steak. I didn’t.

“I’m not slurring my words,” I said.

When he offered to breathalyze me I welcomed the experiment, since I can’t even remember the last time I had a beer and have never blown into the machine before, but he apparently lacked some portion of the apparatus. Instead he tried to do a field sobriety test, but I was too bored to concentrate and he just sort of wandered off in disappointment. It was an unsatisfying experience all around, really, particularly as my wellness remained unaffected.

One point to this story is that I do spend too much time idle, unemployed as I am, and I guess it draws attention. My age (60) and physical condition preclude strenuous labor, and my working much with the public is not likely best-foot-forward. I will gratefully consider offers of employment — writing, of course, driving, flying a desk, pushing papers, sorting widgets, bottle-washing. (Please feel free to hit me up on that.)

Till then it isn’t illegal to stand around idle in a public park. I understand it isn’t illegal to be brown or gay, either, despite the aspersions cast upon those groups. Hell, even some cops have to be decent, open-minded folks, statistically. (Cheap shot, just kidding officers, take a joke.)

Instead of the anticipated “don’t judge a book by its cover” moral of this story, let me offer instead some simple words of advice for the homeless: design the cover yourself.

1. Idle is fine, just don’t be obvious about it (I had a momentary lapse). Hide. Read a book or at least pretend. Have a notebook open and a pen in your hand. Act like you’re praying. Minimize contact.

2. Keep the noise down. No yelling, fighting, swearing, boisterous laughing, or loud music. You’re in enemy territory, so behave as such.

3. Pick up your crap. When you leave a mess behind it reflects on the homeless as a whole and wears out everybody’s already flimsy welcome. Be seen cleaning up and properly disposing of your trash. It helps.

4. When the cops come, as they inevitably will, don’t swear at them. Be nice. You be cool, mostly they will too, unless you’re impaired or up to something unsavory. Why up the tension needlessly?

To those who judge only by covers, I say it’s impossible to see the pain (physical and mental), loneliness and fear without opening the book. I know a great many of you don’t care about the story anyway, and your judgments are really merely labels (brown, gay, homeless). We’ve come to expect that from people like you. And thus you are labeled, “people like you.”

I recently attended a cookout hosted by Matthew and his assorted pets (dogs Lucky and Freedom Bear, and cat Rosie), with eight or nine other homeless people.

We talked about “people like you” a lot.