"Honesty is Bosworth's helium. He spits it and we float and glow. When too many writers are hiding behind superficial structures and fondling words rather than emotions, Bosworth's tales slip like soft ash across our souls. Ash can be anything. It can be babies or bombs or helicopters or chinese stars. Ash is the cargo we carry. The freight. What we'll become when the water's burned away. And Bosworth knows how to enter like a single flame to tear out the bad. Evoking Antoine de Saint-Exupéry and F. Scott Fitzgerald, Freight is the kind of bed time story that big people need to hear. Something to remind us that before the bullshit hit, we could nearly be considered real."