Thoughts on my story?

It's for my creative writing class and could only one page long (which is much more difficult than I thought it'd be).

Thoughts and opinions would be very appreciated. It's called The Blind Pig

Thanks to Prohibition, speakeasies and blind pigs began to pop up all over the place. The speakeasies were more in the big cities but too many cops and government officials frequented the good ones. It was the quickest way to get tossed in jail because if they got busted in a place like that, sipping on wine, then everyone else did, too. Plus, they were too fancy. Only rich people wanted to get dressed up just to sit in a dingy bar and drink moonshine.

The pigs were where the real fun was. After working from sun up to sun down at the dock or at the mill, people would start trailing in to the pigs still wearing their work clothes. My Chuck and I strolled in every Friday with our hands practically covered in dirt from working on the railways.

Trumpets blared over record players and heads bobbed merrily along when me and Chuck walked down into the smoky and windowless basement just as the door slammed behind us and we sat at one of the last open tables. Chuck sat down all gentle, like an old man and bitched about work while I pulled out a chair with one hand dug into my pocket looking for a cigarette with the other. "My back's ******* killing me!" Chuck moaned. Junior (the owner) brought us our usual drinks, whiskey, and Chuck sighed reaching for his before practically inhaling it. "I swear to God, man, when I come into some cash, I'm gonna play a hundred lotto numbers, win, and tell everyone down at the railway to kiss my ***."

"Before or after pigs fly?" I asked. I had found my cigarette and used one of the lit candles on the table to light it.

"Why don't you give me a call if your sister starts to sprout wings."

I took a sip of the God-awful whiskey, "**** you."

Chuck's head managed to turn practically all the way around when a group of three girls came click, click, clicking down the stairs in their fancy high-heeled shoes. None of the other women there ever dressed like that, none of the other women came to put on a show. Just by looking at their clothes you could tell they didn't belong without even knowing anything about them. They glided by the card tables with men talking and laughing so loudly about nothing that you could hear them over the jazz music, slapping down dim nickels and dimes.

"What are girls like that doing in a place like this?"Chuck asked, turning back around. "That one with the black hair is a looker. Let's go say somethin' to 'em!"

"You wouldn't do that if you saw what I saw." Chuck looked ragged and worn out. The only thing hiding the dark circles under his eyes from sleepless nights were the layers of dirt, mixed with sweat that was still caked on to his face. I probably didn't look any better, but I wasn't eyeing the rich girls standing in the corner all snooty-like.

We both sat there for a while just people watching. Candles flickered on their tables, us in our filthy work clothes, card games going at every other tabe, Junior running back and forth slinging drinks and those girls. Those girls. Chuck stared hard at them in their little circle while they just whispered away

I raised my still-full glass into the air, "A toast!"

"To what?"

"I don't know, winning the lotto someday."

"Here, here; brother!"