The dining hall is closed on Sunday nights, so students are on their own for dinner. There are some pretty good restaurants in town and couple of campus coffee shops/eateries. Of course there's also the fridge in Mr. Z's room.
MR. Z.: Not sure if I'll be having anything other than Easy Mac, I don't know what the food situation is tonight.
MR. Z.: Even better than Easy Mac...
This meal's color palette:
Pizza rolls and chocolate milk. Basically his favorite meal from age 7 until... well, now. I always hated making those things for him. You'd have to cook them in the toaster oven for about 4 and a half minutes and then flip them, burning off your finger tips, and then watch them like a hawk for the next few minutes because if you looked away for even a split second, they'd burst and all the cheese and tomato sauce would ooze out of them. Then you'd basically be left with an empty pizza satchel and you'd have to surreptitiously stuff the innards back inside them before serving them. And Mr. Z would always know when they popped and he'd be all bummed out, "Aw, they popped?! Man!" Somehow, his didn't seem to pop in the above picture. Either he somehow cracked the cooking code for those fuckers or, more likely, he didn't cook them at all and he's eating them frozen.