Reporting from Cairo—
Ibrahim Shaban said he was 15, but he looked much younger in his pajama pants and sweat shirt with the worn-away rhinestones, dirt caked on his bare feet, a knife scar on his face. He strolled through the crowds in Tahrir Square the other day, watching banners unfurl, listening to speeches. He sometimes sounded like a miniature rebel, distilling the nation's rage in his narrow body."My father died a month ago, so I've been living in the square," he said. "He had heart problems. He sold cups and glasses in the street. I used to help him. He's gone now. My mother died too. A few years ago. I don't know what of. She just died."
"Everyone should have the right to call for his rights," he said. "Even me."
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