There are some men who sit by the pool but do not swim. Their legs are in the water but they are lying with hands behind their backs. Like statues of the Roman Gods, their chests are bare for all to see, fresh from the elixir of the Gymnasium Practice. They sit there as if to say, look at me and look at this body. As the servants slog away in the pool, their every kick and stroke produces the energy that churns the Dynamo of their Ego. But as one by one the servants leave the pool clocking the end of their shifts, so has their audience left and The Roman Gods cease to exist.