As the gathering crowd grows I hear someone try to get my attention from behind the police line.“Mr. Beckham?” He asks just loud enough for me to hear. The boy is no younger than fifteen, and has familiar eyes. Terrified eyes. Just like the man from earlier.Not again. I sprint over, trying to be causal so he doesn’t try anything stupid. He holds up the button but his hand shakes. Unlike the old man he doesn’t break down and cry, he just stares until I meet him.