In Sushi Girl, the art of sibling rivalry becomes intertwined with sushi smorgasbord, as the Su sis-ters find themselves on the verge of a nervous breakdown, living with hilarity and neurotic break-neck speed in racy Manhattan. Fueled by jealous adoration of each other, the sisters are like scis-sor-paper-stone, pretty sibling girls who often competed with each other and cancelled each other out, wearing their flashy Gucci belts and morphant mosquito pearls, who ate plenty of sushi in the Village from time to time in their rambling 30’s and experienced the horror of not knowing who they were; they were partying so hard, they forgot everything and anything. We’re not even Japa-nese, they laughed, thinking about the desperate way they ate their pickanniny share of sushi fish, and sang, Come on, it’s the Village Hour, and went sniggering in the daft happenstance rain to-gether, prancing a pied past Prince and Essex and all those green twinkling troubadour signs in the city that made everyone who was everyone quite giddy to be sure.