Outside the club at Night, by F. Scott Fitzgerald
"The club lay in a little valley, almost roofed over by willows, and down through their black silhouettes, in irregular blobs and patches, dripped the light of a huge harvest moon. As they parked the car, Basil's tune of tunes, Chinatown, drifted from the windows and dissolved into its notes, which thronged like elves through the glade."
-F. Scott Fitzgerald