There is a theory, that there is theory behind all things.
That there is a force, a pattern which guides everything in the universe along a set of rules; governing the behaviour of it all.
The behaviour of the planets, the stars, the motions of the waves in the ocean; which way a summer breeze blows a woman's hair so that her scent carries through the air and into the olfactory of the man's nose standing next to her on the street corner as they await the changing of the traffic light. The scent of her causing him to look over and become distracted by the beautiful way the morning light reflects off of her tanned skin; so that he steps out too early, and into the path of a passing bus, that strikes and kills him instantly.
Every aspect of every action and reaction, adhering to the laws set out in the theory that controls our lives; our universe.
Yet, what if there is no such set of rules; that there is no unified theory of all things.
And instead, at the center of all there is, was, and ever will be, there is just a room; a room full of break-dancing, robot cheetahs, snorting cocaine and staying up all night playing Super Bomberman on their old-school Super Nintendo.
But that is just a theory.