"Yeah? What year?" he asked, glancing over briefly. "I had a 1200 Custom Sportster before I ended up here. Good reliable bike with a lot of power." He had already priced up the new 2010 models but not actually existing in the world and the part where he was actually residing in Lawrence made financing or stealing the bike a problem.
Silence met his question about the reference. Eliot cleared the intersection before he glanced sideways at Booth. "Hey man." Unable to tell if he was resting or passed out, Eliot reached across and smacked him hard on the arm. Nothing. "Shit," he swore quietly. His foot pressed down on the accelerator pedal and he guided the truck into the opposite lane, passing an elderly couple driving home from some event.
"You're lucky I know where the hospital is," he muttered to the unconscious man sitting beside him. He looked down, checking his speed, and then up at the street. Soon enough, there the building was. Eliot gave the truck a little more gas and swung in front of an oncoming car into the drive, the horn blast after fading as he pulled up to the ER doors.