England gritted his teeth and held the sign a little higher.

He hated his life.

Because maybe he needed a few extra Pounds. Maybe he was just a tiny bit broke. But this? Was this even worth it?

He was in bloody America.

He was working in bloody America.

But wait, there's more. He was on the side of the road, holding up a large star-spangled sign that read "All-American Barbeque house! Next signal!"

And even all of this humility combined could not even try to compare to the final element.

He was in a statue of liberty costume.

Damn it all to bloody hell.

But hey—just as long as no one he knew saw him in—

"England?"

The cars had stopped at a red light. Leaning out of a grey pick-up truck was the last person he wanted to see.

Well, maybe not the last. France was the last. Well, France was a frog—not a person. So he didn't count.

"Oh god." England cursed under his breath. Bloody America was leaning out of his car window—grinning like a maniac, and desperately laughing his bloody arse off.

"Shut it, you bloody wanker!" England yelled across the street.

"You! Ahaha! I can't believe this! You're in a dress! Ahahaha!" America teased, snapping some pictures on his phone.

England tried to hold the sign in front of his face, but it was in vain. "Stop taking bloody pictures!"

America laughed as the light turned green and he sped off, much to England's relief.

Until he returned twenty minutes later with France and that bloke-what's-his-name.

England hated his life.

Inspired by a brave teenage boy. He stood on the side of a bridge in the pouring rain, in a dress, to adevertise this barbeque shop. And for whatever reason, he looked just like England. But with less eyebrows.

Sorry for any mistakes, I'm American!

-Mallory