In an effort to calm him down while riding in the fuel truck from Jalalabad, Baba tells Amir to “[t]hink of something good.” Amir remembers a Friday afternoon in Paghman when he and Hassan flew kites together, companionably silent. About this memory, Amir admits:
I didn’t remember what month that was, or what year even. I only knew the memory lived in me, a perfectly encapsulated morsel of a good past, a brushstroke of color on the gray, barren canvas that our lives had become.
The primary purpose of this paragraph from chapter 10 is to