Smashed

I saw him smash the bottle against her head and run away. The crowd was so thick, everyone was smashing something, yelling and pushing and laughing. She hit the ground, the middle of the street, people around her laughed. They're smashing and laughing, she's bleeding on the ground and not getting up. I leave my friends and go to her, checking if she's conscious. I'm not a doctor, I don't know what I'm doing, I move her, drag her to the sidewalk, maybe it's a bad idea. I pray I haven't made anything worse. I look up thinking a crowd must have gathered around me, people must be pulling out their cellphones and calling for help. But nobody's above me, nobody's there, and when I say for someone to call 911 all I hear is "wow that bitch is fucked up." Laughter. Smashing. I take out my phone – 2%. Will I need my phone later? I call for help and I say what happened and where we are. It's going to be hard for an ambulance to cut through all this rabble. The cops will be here soon, I'll have to describe the guy who did this the assailant. He looks like all these guys, I'll say, looking around, I don't know. He even looks a little like me.