Night had fallen. The back roads were unsettling. He pictured an angry mob around every turn.

Three blocks before QuikTrip, he figured he was as close as he could get. In an empty street, he slipped on his flak jacket and helmet, strapped the gas mask to his leg, and shouldered his cameras.

The gas station was lit up. Hundreds milled about the lot; a few filtered in and out of the station store. Carson hung at the edges, 100 yards away. The camera stamped his first photos at 9:52 p.m.

But Carson knew he needed to get inside. He needed to see the shop, the destruction, the looters, if there were any. He got closer.

At 9:54, Carson’s camera captured a shirtless man running out of the shop in camouflage pants, his white T wrapped around his face. A teen behind him had loaded his arms with bags of chips.

Carson kept shooting: A man with a stuffed pillow sack. Another with an armload of soda. And Carson’s favorite, the one that makes the next day’s front page:

At 9:55, Carson got to the door. A man stood nearby, observing the chaos. “This is crazy,” Carson told him. The man was nice. Carson asked him to watch his back. He nodded.