Nevertheless, orders were orders. If they insisted on sending me by taxi, who was I to complain?

As these thoughts buzzed in my head, I found myself at the edge of North Capitol Street, ready to fulfill my mandate. Admittedly, I felt a bit foolish and exposed out, standing on the corner of a busy intersection, the cars whooshing by, the pedestrians pushing past to cross the street. Though I had watched ample television and been to enough cities to see it done; It didn't seem natural to me to flag down a taxi.

Not surprisingly, my first attempt was a relative failure: The arm that I lifted with so much promise would drop quickly back to my side, the victim of what appeared to be an occupied taxi coming near. As the cab whizzed by, I saw that it was indeed empty, my lack of confidence punishable with a fine of a few minutes standing unnecessarily in the smothering D.C. heat.

The next attempt, like the first, was also unsuccessful. This time, the few cabs that passed by were actually full and my outstretched arm proved to be an insufficient lure.

Across the intersection, however, I saw an oasis. Dotting the sea of metallic car roofs that shimmered in the heat at the traffic light were several white taxi signs. Once again, I stretched out my arm, looking toward the throng of cars and hoping, praying even, that one of those cabbies might catch my eye.

The first few cars drove by, but then a taxi stopped in the intersection, its turn signal flashing in my direction. Surely enough, the cab pulled up to the corner where I stood. Jumping in, I was greeted by a rush of cooled air and quickly ensconced in the familiar confines of a backseat. I had made it, thankfully.

Easing the car back into traffic, the distinguished-looking older gentleman at the wheel said indeed he did know how to get the Martin Luther King library, just leave it to him. And so I did.