Name: Baxter Caldwell<br/>Location: Bathroom>Room>Livingroom<br/>Approximate Time: 7:15<br/>Tagging: No one<br/>Wearing: Towel>Jeans and white t-shirt<br/><br/>Baxter stayed in the shower for a while, cleaning himself off. In juvenile detention he had come to know that many other young men didn't bother themselves with hygiene as much as they could or should and while he didn't mind working up a sweat, once he was done with whatever task called for it, he wanted to be clean and smell good.  It helped him separate his current self from the person he had once been, though the track mark scars on his forearm were a constant reminder.<br/><br/>Having cleaned himself off, he went back to his room, towel wrapped around himself again and quickly changed into a simple pair of jeans and a tight white t-shirt that accentuated his powerful upper body. If he did his hair differently he wouldn't have looked out of place in a Greaser movie. He knew he had class that day at the local community college where he was trying to get some of his gen eds knocked out for a better price, but the first wasn't till 11.<br/><br/>Grabbing a pulp science fiction book off his shelf he went down to the living room and flopped onto the couch, his legs hanging over one of the arm rests while he started to flip through the book, making good progress as it was one of his favorites. Something he'd read a million times, but that helped to ease his anxiety just a bit. He had a lot of coping mechanisms, maybe too many, but his therapist had told him that each was a step away from drugs and vandalism. Baby steps, in essence.