Heat Death

Tickets to Mars.
Sell everything - got to get on, only so many seats, so many rockets everyday. Got to get on before it's too late; sell the house, the car. Melt down the jewelry and sell it for spare change. Sell the clothes; you're not going to need one, they'll give you nice, clean space-suits when you get there. No, don't bring the baseball cards, you're not going to need them there anyways - there'll be plenty else to do. Leave the goldfish, he'll be alright, I promise. Only one suitcase, now - you're not going to need that, no, just leave it.
TICKETS TO MARS read the sign in demanding red letters. Pasted on the billboards above the lonely highways, flashed across the screens in the abandoned shopping malls, played on the screens in the empty movie theaters. GET YOUR SEATS TODAY - and then, tagged on ominously at the end - BEFORE IT'S TOO LATE.