Hunting a Back Alley Toad

Outside, rain trickled and the city lamps started to bounce and reflect off of the wet surfaces. 

Many back alleys were barely lit up under the growing downpour. In one such alley, a lean man with a heavy backpack was hunched over behind empty crates. 

His body shivered. But that was already taking place before the cold rain water prickled his skin. 

"Now's the best time for dust!" the trembling bum growled over the phone. "I need confidence! I might need pain tolerance! I need to feel my strength at full power! Dust is there for me, my best friend–"

But the feminine voice on the other end cut the call short, saying, "I'll call you back, Toad. This shouldn't take long."

Ol' Harold grimaced and howled, "Hurry! Y'all can't… y'all can't leave me hanging." 

He hurled his cheap, plastic phone into his lap. And Harold's other hand clung to a tiny bag. As he uncurled his fingers, Harold stared down at the faintly golden powder inside.