Bar 908

The first thing to Mr. Draft upon entering Bar 908, in the Times
Square Building, was the stench of cigarette smoke. Now Mr. Draft
won't needlessly cast aspersions, and wouldn't dare to suggest that a
bar in New Bedford wouldn't gladly embrace the no-smoking regulations
which have been imposed, but nonetheless, the stink was there.
Clearly, Mr. Draft and his colleagues did not see any smoke or anyone
smoking...perhaps, the smell lingered on the clothes of other patrons
or maybe someone had sneaked a butt earlier...but the air was foul.

That aside, Club 908 was dark and cavernous, with a large and empty
dance floor, befitting its' reputation as a meat market. Aside from
Mr. Draft and his colleagues that evening (Mr. Mix, Mr. Merlot and Mr.
Razzamatazz), there were but a few other customers, including two
young women, who approached our assembled group and announced
themselves as "the Bar 908 Welcoming Committee". Now granted, the NB
Barflies are a ruggedly handsome and virile group of men...even Mr.
Merlot, with his baseball cap fashion faux pas, is not without his
charms...and one can see why we would attract the attention of a
couple of young women...but it appears they may have only been looking
for smoking companions, as they invited us outside to join them for
some cigarettes. Alas, the Barflies may endure a little liver damage,
but we avoid lung cancer like, well...lung cancer.

The bartenders were affable enough and made girly drinks for Mr. Mix
and Mr. Razzamatazz without too much sneering. The draft selection
had the usual macro-brew selections, and a few better than that. Mr.
Draft opted for a Sam Adams Octoberfest. The trip to the men's room
meant descending more staircases than one needs to in the New York
City subway system in order to catch the F train, but at least the
men's room didn't stink of cigarette smoke.

Mr. Draft only can give the 908 a 5, but perhaps, if air-scrubbers
were utilized, that rating could climb up to a 6.