Foresight

He wouldn’t have started the barfight if he knew he was going to lose.
“Those are fantastic boots” the woman was saying. He looked down at her from the bottom of an empty glass that moments earlier contained a White Russian. Moments later it would still be empty, only it would be empty and in many pieces, some of them embedded in his flesh, and she would be looking down at him.
“Those are fantastic boobs” he said.
“Excuse me?”
“Sorry, do you prefer tits?” It was less a physical pain, her fist, and more a surprised shock. He thought she would go for his balls, but she didn’t. Instead she swung her left fist in a wide arc, connected squarely with his front teeth and sent him tumbling backwards. His glass fell to the floor, exploded into pieces, some jagged, some smooth. It probably hurt her hand quite a bit, but if it did she didn’t show it. She was definitely tough. He shook his head, brushed his hand to his lips, checked for blood. There wasn’t any, so he walked towards the woman and hurled his right fist into her abdomen. He felt like he was twelve, playing Mortal Kombat in a friend’s basement. Only he was twenty-six, and he wasn’t Liu Kang and she wasn’t Sonya Blade. The woman folded in half around his fist. Air rushed out of her lungs in an unattractive grunt. He retracted his fist, contemplated dropping his left elbow on her back but decided against it. She fell to her knees, one arm outstretched to the ground for stability, the other arm holding tight to her stomach. Her lungs burned for oxygen. He turned away from her, looked at the rest of the bar. A wall of glaring eyes like a glacier of disbelief surrounded him. The bartender materialized from behind the wall.
“Son, you’ve got a lot of nerve, I’ll give you that.” The bartender said, his voice harsh from years of cheap cigars.
“Yeah, I guess I do.” He replied. He could taste a metallic hint of blood in his mouth. Maybe she hit him harder than he thought.
The woman had regained her composure, and from her crouched stance sprung forward into the back of his knees. He tipped backwards, arms swimming through the air, searching for balance. At the peak of his struggle she stood up and dropped him on his back. She turned around to admire her handiwork; him on the ground, looking up, breathless. She moved so that she stood over him, her small stature magnified to frightening proportion. He wanted to kick at her or grab her legs, but he couldn’t summon the necessary energy to fight back. His lungs were empty and his back burned with several cuts from the more jagged pieces of glass that had earlier held his drink. So instead of fighting back he looked up at her.

Obviously, this is not finished. In fact I am 100% stuck and unsure where to go from here, which is a bummer because this story is due in a week. Anyway, my mission here was to try my hand at a fight scene, to test the waters for a future project. Does it work? I'm not entirely convinced. Also: the first sentence is not mine. Part of the assignment was everyone in class had to start their story with the same sentence. My suggestion for the sentence: "Horses, for the most part, are incapable of withstanding the crushing gravity of a black hole." Which is better? You be the judge.