Bananas

Tom French: ST. PETERSBURG— The temple of forgotten songs — secret mecca of joy and mystery and Elvis 45s — waits at the end of the earth, which happens to be just a few blocks north of downtown.

A pilgrimage to its doors requires perseverance, even if you have the address, because the place remains hidden within a maze of dead-end streets, in a faded industrial park tucked between some railroad tracks and a quiet residential neighborhood where no one would dream of looking for one of the planet’s biggest record stores.

“If you found us,” says Doug Allen, grinning behind the front counter of Bananas Music, “you must be serious.”