Only two out of ten people die in Abu Dhabi; the rest simply fail to have their visas renewed. They are bagged, tagged and placed on the next available flight to wherever they first came from – the one-way ticket experience par excellence. Every edifice on this island is crafted by these almost-nothings. In death, at least, there is solace: never again to queue for days on end, never again to have their fingertips inked and pressed by intolerant hands, their blood screened for undesirable illnesses, their flesh seared by a sun that wonders what the hell they are doing here.