Anyway, Lloyd is desperately asking for advice on how to deal with his autistic kid, and Olivia is being less than helpful. Her only useful piece of advice is to swing by Dylan's house: "Being in his room, among his things, might give you a sense of who he is." Then she scurries off, presumably so she's not tempted to fling her marriage to the winds and ride Lloyd like a Vespa. To further place obstacles between the present and the (presumed) future, she orders Bryce to transfer Dylan to the physical therapy department.

Out in Indio, California, Mark is sitting in a plastic booth at a fast-food restaurant, while Demetri tells the eager, amiable manager that the restaurant came up in an FBI query, so he'll need the names and addresses of every employee. The manager already has it printed up. He hands it over with "Burgers and waffle fries -- that's all we do." And bless you for doing it: the world needs more waffle-fry venues. Except! The manager excitedly alludes to the frozen yogurt expansion his flashforward showed him. Demetri cuts off the creamy treat exposition by asking if the restaurant is owned by Customer Choice Restaurant Group, and we learn that Demetri and Mark are standing in the birthplace of Customer Choice Restaurant Group. Demetri's got a You have GOT to be kidding me look. Mark brightly and maliciously asks for a moment alone with Demetri. The manager shouts, "Somebody get some burgers for these FBI guys, please!" and that is all a bearded fry cook needs to hear. He makes a run for it, and in the time it takes you to read to the end of this sentence, Mark and Demetri are right on Beardo's tail.

The good news is, both Mark and Demetri are in remarkably good shape, what with all the sprinting they have to do and the scaling of tall fences. They eventually end up in a trailer park that embodies every cliché in the genre: pit bulls snarling at the agents, a dumb blonde opening her trailer door right into Demetri's face and knocking him flat on his back, and the chase ending up with Mark tackling Beardo in a kiddie pool.

As a wet Mark cuffs Beardo -- good news! Indio is hotter than two rodents getting friendly in a wool sock so you'll dry off in no time -- Demetri checks the backpack Beardo had on him.

Beardo shouts in a Russian accent, "I heard what you're being! FBI can be biting my ass!" as Demetri pulls out a metal lockbox with a taped-on label reading "Yellow Cake." The agent shouts, "Yellowcake uranium, Mark! Black market nuclear material. Do you think we should leave it here, go back to your office and stare at your bulletin board?" I realize Demetri's being a tool here, but man, I snickered when I first heard that line. Mark opens the box and we find out that no, terrorists are not dumb enough to A) label their contraband and B) entrust it to fry guys in the ass-end of nowhere, USA. Instead, it's pot. Mark does not take the news of this well. (And he's not exactly the kind of guy who's going to mellow out by playing fast-and-loose with what gets handed to the evidence locker.) On the ground, Beardo says, "It's sickest strain around, yo. In my flashforward, I'm driving pimping ride. Nineteen-inch rims, yo. I must be going to be Scarface of pot." In terms of drug dealers, I'm not sure Scarface is who you want to be. Try for someone a little less perforated by machine guns.