When the wind's from the east
And the sun's from the west
And the sand in the glass is right
The merchant was the lonely street’s sole occupant, idly arranging his wares alone in the cool night air. By day, this market in the center of Agrabah bustled: people shouting and bargaining, crowding each other to obtain the goods their families needed. By night, rats (of both the literal and metaphorical persuasions) cleaned up the detritus left behind by the day’s activities.
The merchant drew a dull, aged brass lamp from beneath the counter of his stall, holding it up so that it caught the moonlight. He smiled as he turned it this way and that, admiring the dusty relic as if it were something remarkably special. Briefly, the moon illuminated his eyes, which shone the same golden hue of the lamp. He tucked the object away carefully, still smiling to himself.
Some things are more than they appear to be.