It was an odd day for France. From the moment he got up, he felt a sick feeling in the bottom of his stomach,

as if something were going to go horribly wrong.

He skipped breakfast that day, the whole afternoon was hell, and France felt as irratable as a country could be.

To put it simply, it wasn't the best day of his life. To add to it, his boss threatened him that if he didn't pick

up his pace at work he was going to be replaced! So being cranky, groggy and depressed, France arrived back at

his home in the evening.

There, he sat on his back deck chugging bottles of wine and who-knows-what. His country was going to all chaos,

and he knew it. But what was he to do? The economy was so bad that he had to ask England for help. His only hope

was that the amount of rich tourists would double in a few months, however they have been less and less recently.

"Merde...merde MERDE!" He yelled, before breaking down and crying. He shivered in desperation, and nothing seemed

to make sense to him. Suddenly, he got up and stumbled into his bedroom. He dove into his bed and hid under the

covers. Rest seemed foreign to him at this point.

"Tomorrow..." he mutters. "Tomorrow i'll quit."

Meanwhile, Germany and Italy had returned from a bar. Italy refused to drink a single drop as he wanted to drive

Germany home. Despite Germany feeling proud of Italy's mature choices, he knew that he probably would be safer

driving home in the back of a cement truck. Nonetheless, Germany gave in as usual, and passed out on the way home.

Partially from his slight drunkenness, and partially from Italy being a sadist.

Upon arriving home, Italy somehow managed to drag Germay from the car into bed. That's when Italy got a phonecall.

"Ve? Who could be calling this late?" Wondered Italy out loud.

"Ciao?"

"Is this... Italy?" spoke a somber voice.

"S-si. Is this France?"

"Oui. Listen Italy. Write this down."

Italy was stucken as concerned.

"What do you want me to write down? You don't sound very good. Is everything okay?"

"Nevermind. S-sorry to bother you Italy. The next time you see Germany, just tell him merci, okay?"

"Wait! What's going on France?"

"Goodbye, Italy."

France hung up the phone.