Sleeping Ticket?

A spotlight stabs through my rear window, nearly blinding my weary eyes. The all too familiar light bar flashing blue and red tells me my car slumber is about to be interrupted by a street soldier in a navy blue uniform.
My seat comes up and my window comes down. Officer friendly shines his mag light in my face.
"Why didn't I see you when I first shined my light in your car?"
"I was sleeping," I answer, truthfully. "My seat was reclined."
"What are you doing out here at this hour?"
I wonder if he's deaf or stupid, or perhaps both.
"Um... sleeping?" (I hope I don't come across TOO sarcastic!)
"Why are you sleeping in your car?" (Nosey, ain't cha?)
"It's really late, and I'm tired."
He doesn't like the answer, but has no comeback, so he goes back into his usual script.
"I need to see your driver's license and registration, please."

I hand them over, fumbling more than normal through the glovebox for my insurance papers. It's after 1 a.m., and was just getting into a heavy sleep cycle.
"This expired," he says blandly looking at my insurance papers.
"Oh, hang on," I say, remembering my new insurance card is in my wallet. I fish through it, as his flashlight picks up on family photos, debit card, library card, business cards, conservation card, ah... here it is...
I hand it to him, triumphantly. He looks disappointed that it's valid.
"This your current address?"
Dang. I've moved since that driver's license was issued. "Nope," I say.
"Where do you live now?"
I tell him.
"Whatcha doin' out here sleepin' in the park?"
"I got community service at the recycle center just across the street in the morning," I confess. The truth is sounding worse than a lie. I've been pulled over plenty for speeding, hence the community service, but never for sleeping.
Surely he won't issue a "sleeping ticket"...
"I'll be right back," he says, retreating to his bright flashing lighted car with my license.
I rub my eyes and reach for my pocket recorder and press "record" while keeping the recorder out of sight as he returns.
"Do you mind if I search your car?" his flashlight is already searching front and back seats.
I freeze. Of course, I mind. It's a matter of principle. He's supposed to have reasonable suspicion, or just cause, to search my vehicle.
"I don't know how to answer that," I say.
"It's a simple 'yes' or 'no'," he says, irritated and suspicious.
"Okay," I reply. "I guess not, then."
He's flipping out now. "Why not?"
"I just don't want you to search my vehicle."
"Why not?"
"I don't have to say why not," I say, glad I'm recording this joker.
"What's in your car?"
"A bunch of junk, as usual," I say, truthfully.
"What's that on the floor," he says, aiming his beam on a piece of thin metal.
"Looks like a tent stake from my camping tent."
"What about those leaves?"
"Kids tracked 'em in. We live around a lot of trees."
(Is he searching my car without permission? What a jerk! What about my constitutional rights? I'm not under arrest.)
"You aren't allowed to park overnight here in the city park," he says, trying a different tack. "If I see you back here, I'll arrest you for trespassing."
(I'll bet you will, you face saving savage. Have your macho tough guy spiel and be gone!)
He stomps back to his car and waits for me to drive away first. I click off the recorder and decide to spend the rest of the night in the Wal-Mart parking lot with the RVers and truckers.