A gymnasium of a bar, Stitch holds more than 300 people, the vast majority equipped with cell phones, BlackBerries, and big life plans. (I overheard one man talking about his “little baby”—which turned out to be a hedge fund.) Co-owner Nick Cohen says he never imagined the bar would bring in such “respectable” crowds. “The garment district was just dying—crying out for something like this,” he says. Energized by cubicle gossip, the bar is packed by 6 p.m. and garnished in unlikely tributes to the neighborhood. Vintage sewing machines line the walls, and cocktails ($9) have names like “Cashmere,” “Stiletto,” and “Silk Scarf.” By 11 p.m., though, the place is pretty deserted (the trash cans are full of complimentary mini–sewing kits). Most people have left the premises and proceeded downtown to neighborhoods that are “crying out for them” just a little bit less.