Why there? Because within a three-minute walk there are a clinic that dispenses methadone, the substitute opioid used to treat heroin addiction; two outpatient substance-abuse programs; and a needle exchange. The neighborhood has few cheap options for hanging out. The White Castle allows only paying customers to use the restroom. The management at a Subway and two Dunkin’ Donuts claim their bathrooms are out of order.

What is left is pretty much McDonald’s — the restaurant of the masses, the great democratizer, the substitute for the community square, where it is possible to read or nurse a cheap cup of coffee for hours, or to nap after taking a daily methadone dose. In New York City, every McDonald’s has its own flavor. At one in Williamsburg, Brooklyn, the same group of older Latina women, one with her hair dyed maroon, meet every afternoon, while at another in Queens, older Koreans gather most days for coffee.

Some regulars joke that the Eighth Avenue one is “zombie McDonald’s”; others call it “junkie McDonald’s.” Customer assessments on Yelp describe “a drug addict’s paradise” and advise others to “stay clear of the meth heads.” (To be fair, the addicts there are not really meth heads — people who use methamphetamines, a stimulant. Most prefer downers.)

Nobody from this McDonald’s, or the corporate office, responded to requests for comment.

Many of the patrons run a circuit, from the methadone clinic to the front of the needle exchange and then down to the restaurant for a few hours to come down after the methadone, hang out with friends and maybe hustle some business. Those who still get high run a different circuit: Sometimes they will buy drugs in the bathroom and use them right away in a stall. Sometimes they will buy in the McDonald’s but then walk around the corner to shoot up at the Wendy’s, where three individual bathrooms upstairs each lock, offering more privacy than the McDonald’s restrooms.