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Writer’s Log Day 7: This coffee tastes like poison.

And how, you might ask, do I know what poison tastes like?

In a past life I was an expert spy who always had a secret stash of cyanide pills in my coin purse.

The academy I trained with, which consisted of one discipline officer and twelve other spies in a derelict building, developed our immune systems to withstand even arsenic. We were then be forced into heated rooms after ingesting each poison to train our bodies to sweat out the toxins in a matter of minutes.

He prepared us well. The Mayans never saw us coming.

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