Sushi Street

Sushi Street is a conveyor-belt sushi bar drawn as a cosy izakaya after dark: warm wood, paper lanterns swinging over the counter, a noren curtain at the door and a wet neon street running past the window. You work the station at the bottom of the screen. Tap the rice tub, tap a topping, and a piece appears on the pass. Slide it onto the belt and it rides past every seat until the person who wanted it reaches out and takes it. Hand a plate over in person instead and they tip you a little more for the speed.

Eight toppings open up over the run — salmon, egg, cucumber, tuna, shrimp, avocado, salmon roe and glazed eel — and from the third evening a sheet of nori turns rice and a filling into a maki roll. Every customer shows what they are after in a thought bubble above their head, and a bar underneath shows how long they will wait for it. The salaryman is in a hurry, the grandma will sit happily all night, the sumo always orders two, and the cat on the end stool only ever wants fish. Serve three in a row without wasting a plate and a combo multiplier starts stacking up your coins. Let a plate go round with nobody wanting it and you can bin it, but it costs you the combo and a few coins.

Fifteen shifts get busier one step at a time. Rush hours empty the street into the bar, the cold box runs low and needs a tap to restock, and a tea round buys back a little patience from everyone at once. Get through a shift without losing a customer and you take three stars, which opens the next evening and whatever comes with it: a new topping, the tea service, a longer belt that holds ten plates, or an apprentice chef who quietly starts making the piece most people are waiting for. It plays with one thumb in portrait, widens to seat six on a desktop, and your stars are kept in your browser.