"... patron saint of those men who hear the riverwhistles sing the mysteries and who return to sleep in wine by the south wheel of the city."

(Part of) the last line of Great Jones Street, DeLillo's third, which I just finished. Another mess. But a focused mess concerned only with East Village life in the 70s. It's entertaining to see a take on the city that includes warehouses, vomit, and utter destitution where condos now dominate. An almost classic New York novel? Sure. Readable outside that uber-specific milieu? Not a chance.