Learn from the mistakes of others

First point: Why haven't I added you yet? Will rectify this.
Second point: TISM rocked when I was a kid.
Third point(s):
a) In the style of Douglas Adams.
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The car rolled to a stop. That is to say, the wheels of the car did the rolling, the only time a car actually does any rolling itself is a time when you really don't wish to be inside it.

The car was remarkable in the sense that it was completely unremarkable. Generally in stories such as this, objects are pointed out in order to carry the plot. This goes doubly for an object in the opening sentence.

A truly remarkable amount of time passed with little occurring, unless of course you were a meteorologist, in which case a lot of things were happening. Assuming that you are not, I'll simply mention that it was raining and I was wondering why I was here. It was at this point that the driver decided to leave the car.

Now this is the important bit. The driver left the car via the driver's side door, as drivers tend to do unless they are attempting to park somewhere in Athens, in which case they may be forced to leave the car by the passenger's door, sunroof or rear hatch.

What was my point again? Oh yes, the important point was that the driver left the car via the driver's side, while I was lurking in the shadows on the passenger's side. As she popped open her umbrella and wandered off into the rain, I stepped out of my hiding place and followed her.

The fedora I had tilted over my brow was keeping my head dry as well as concealed, similarly the full length raincoat was doing the same for the rest of me. There's one other point regarding raincoats and umbrellas. While an umbrella occupies at least one hand, two if there's a wind, a raincoat leaves both hands free. One to hold my hand over her mouth, the other to firmly drag a sharp knife over her exposed throat.

That's why I was there.
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b) In the style of William Gibson.
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Damp brake pads gripped drum and the car pulled up to the curb. The shallow tread on its balding tyres squelched aside water in the gutter that had recently fallen as rain onto the darkened street. Little eddies danced chaotic patterns in the water, marked by a floating cigarette butt.

The deadened engine ticked itself cool while the driver sat inside pondering her exit into the rain. Finally after some time she grabbed an umbrella that had been lying on the backseat for weeks. She opened the door, unfurled the umbrella as a one handed defense against the rain and walked away from her car.

I had been observing all of this from a dark fold in the dim night light. I followed.

Closing the distance between her and I, my blade glinted in a street light if anyone had been there to witness it. My free hand held her mouth shut and pulled her toward me as my blade danced across her throat. Crimson life flowed from the wound and my purpose on this street, at this time, was revealed.
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Or maybe not. I haven't read any Gibson since Pattern Recognition and I haven't read any Adams since Salmon of Doubt. I REALLY want to buy the new Gibson. But $32 is $32, I can wait for the paperback.

I found it hard to write in first person. It's so foreign to me. I prefer omniscience. It lets me be scatterbrained about what I reveal and through whose eyes.

The only critique I've offered is that I thought it was worthy to emulate. Sorry about that. X|