She manages to work her tears down to sniffles, and she swallows hard. She's still hugging Newt's coat, and she pushes it back towards him, unaware that he'd intended to cover or warm her with it. She pushes up onto her knees first, face slowly shuttering into blankness. She pats her hips, her ass, her tits, looking for her phone. But she's pretty sure that it's in her wallet, or in her coat pocket, and neither of those are with her.

"My stuff," she says, voice thick and husky from crying, from yelling at the perv. "Girl," she adds, looking around. "Where am I?" The events are there, it isn't that she's forgotten what's happened, but the geography is hazy, and she can't visually place herself on a street.