Every airplane, no matter how far it is up there, I send love to it. I picture the people in their seats with their plastic cups of soda or orange juice or Scotch, and I love them.

I really love them. I send a steady, visible stream of it—love—from me to them. From my chest to their chests. From my brain to their brains. It's a game I play.

It's a good game because I can't lose.

I do it everywhere now. When I buy Rolaids at the drugstore, I love the lady who runs the place. I love the old man who's stocking shelves. I even love the cashier with the insanely large hands who treats me like shit every other day.

I don't care if they don't love me back.

This isn't reciprocal. It's an outpouring. Because if I give it all away, then no one can control it. Because if I give it all away,

I'll be free.

• Astrid Jones, ask the passengers