Even though he'd spent his teenage years mostly on the road, Jim can't say that he doesn't know pretty much exactly what that was like. Never a goal, never a purpose, just... being there. Doing things. More for something to do than out of any real idea of what he was going to accomplish, seeking out anything and everything that wouldn't remind him of home, or that place.

Shit, staying in Riverside must have been stifling as fuck, though. Thank fuck for Starfleet. And for Pike.

Jim clears his throat a little, fingers curling a little more securely around the paper recipe, now more aware of what it actually means. "Guess I'd better take good care of it, then."