Abby and Carter are strolling along Lake Michigan. “Chaos theory?” she asks, scrunching up her nose. “A virus mutates in the Congo, we evacuate an ER in Chicago, Romano gets his arm cut off…” Carter says, listing off events that he thinks reflect the chaos theory principle of “seemingly random events that are [mysteriously] all part of a larger equation,” except he’s wrong, because you can’t consider those particular things as three separate, random events. Nice try, though. Abby doesn’t even care. “I’m hot,” she complains. Carter keeps on trucking with the boring. “A butterfly flaps its wings in China and creates a tornado halfway around the world…” he continues. “Are you hot?” Abby asks. Carter decides to answer her by babbling about the inherent unpredictability of life, love, and relationships. “What am I, the butterfly or the tornado?” Abby asks, to prove that she was at least partly listening. “You’re chaos in general,” Carter laughs. “Chaos to me. The unknown. I’m chaos to you.” Abby cracks up, as does everyone else, because Carter is to predictable what Michael Jackson is to stark-raving freak. Carter explains that he just wants to beat the odds. “I’m drawn to you,” he says simply. “It’s kinda that simple.” He turns away to skip a stone on Lake Michigan, and Abby decides this is the best time to tear off her clothes. “I’ve been drawn to you for two years, but chaos always seems to rule and I don’t want it to rule,” Carter continues, still not facing her. “I want to know where it’s taking me.” He finally turns in time to see Abby rip off her shirt and run into the water. The Sears Tower, erect and long, stands behind Carter’s shoulder, symbolizing what’s going on in his pants right now. “The tornado,” he laughs. “Definitely the tornado.” He shakes his head in wonder, amusement, and a tinge of lust. Abby frolics in the water and invites him in with a giggle and a flash of her bare calf. We fade into the credits wondering why the middle and end act-outs sucked harder than a hooker on speed.