The street of San Dublin.Survival wasn't a choice; it was a daily hustle. Out there, the government's promises of a "better tomorrow" were just whispers in the wind, drowned out by the sirens and shouting. They built fancy apartments downtown, but down here, on these cracked pavements, nothing ever changed.My mum, a nurse at St. Jude's, walked that tightrope every night. Each late shift was a silent prayer, each passing hour a knot tightening in my gut. The street didn't care about her tired eyes or her selfless heart; it only saw a woman alone in the dark. She walked straight, never detouring, never stopping, a ghost in her own neighborhood. The cops turned a blind eye, the politicians didn't care, and the social workers were too scared to even visit after dark.