With ten, maybe twenty bags of trash slushing onto each other on the curb, the doors open to four men leaning a little too far into their chairs. Are they asleep? They’re not really moving. A line curls, immobile, from the lone cashier. This is 10 p.m. on a Monday at the McDonald’s on 34th Street and Eighth Avenue.
A Night at the ‘Zombie’ McDonald’s
Inside an Eighth Avenue hangout, with fights, stretchers and nodding-out patrons
