Tramway lines and branches

Another sticky hot day. As yesterday, walking home means getting my shirt wet and having to continually clean my forehead.

At least, the almost-sunset light turns the clouds on the sky magical, like milk on water.

And snail season is here. Some bars have started to hang sacks of snails by the front door, to indicate that a nice plate of the poor-man's sea-food can be had there. I need to have some soon.