An old Greek and his son... climb to the top of the highest mountain in their city. At the summit, the old man throws a sinewy, leathered arm around his son's shoulders and they look west, over the city. ""You see our city, my son? When I was born it was nothing more than a half dozen huts and stone mounds. I, Stavros, built the city up with my bare hands, every face on every edifice, until it became the finest metropolis on the peninsula. But do they call me 'Stavros, builder of cities? No."" HтАж