TD sat in a sound booth at the recording studio in Clarkston with walls treated with what looked like egg cartons. He snapped his fingers in front of the long silver microphone with the word Neumann on it. The sound in the room was deader than a doornail. And that microphone looked like it cost more than his tow truck. In front of him sat a clear acrylic stand holding ad copy and he read it through silently. Butch Williams had car dealerships in three states and ran spots on stations in all of those markets. They were looking for an “authentic” voice that stood out. This was TD’s chance. A bearded man in the control room pushed a talkback button and spoke into TD’s headphones. “It’s Titus, right?” “I go by TD.” “All right, TD. Whenever you’re ready. I’m rolling.” TD rubbed his hands on his jeans. His tongue felt thick, his mouth full of cotton. The door opened in the control room and someone stepped in and stood in the dark corner. “If you’re looking for a deal on a new or used car, come see Butch. We’ve got dependable, affordable used cars that won’t break your budget….