Otis dropped onto the keyboard the moment the plug-in window opened, planting himself squarely across the spacebar.

The track looped. Same four bars. Again.
“Move,” poking him in his belly, “Do you have to sit right there?”
“What are you doing?”
“I told you. I’m trying to find the right compression.”
Otis licked his paw, slow, deliberate. “Is that what this is?”
“What?”
“Finding it.”
I hovered over a preset, played the loop, switched it, and played it again. “You don’t get it. The tools matter.”
Otis’s ears twitched. He glanced at the row of plug-ins already open, then back at me.
“You’ve said that about every one of these.”
“This one’s got to be different.” I clicked. The loop played. I grimaced, reset it, switched presets again.
“You have ears, don’t you?”
I leaned in, dragging the threshold down a hair, then back up.
Then I increased the attack, set back and let it play. Reset it again.
“You think William Shakespeare waited around for more transparency? Sat there, rearranging quills until the perfect one showed up?”
“That’s not the same thing.”
“Or J. D. Salinger, you think he had a version update coming that was going to fix the whole thing for him?”
“They didn’t have this many options.”
Otis looked back at the screen. “No, they didn’t.”
He head-butts me. “Stop listening with your eyes… they don’t hear a thing.”

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Otis is grateful you are here.
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Close the extra plug-ins. Pick one. Finish the track. Let us know how it worked.
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