RECORDING glows red on the door to the studio. I stand in the booth, restless. I can’t get this line just right. Niki swivels patiently on his chair, hand on the record button on the other side of the glass.* “Try that one again.” He says. I do. My voice wavers at the same part it has for the past half an hour. I run my hands over my face, neck heating. im supposed to be good at this. doubt creeps in, wraps its fingers around my throat I turn to face the opposite wall.