The Dodger

In the couse of our lives we come across many people. Some whose characters we never forget. They become a part of us and we like to think of them on some evenings when our hands are empty and minds loose. Of the many bright n shallow characters I admire the ARTFUL DODGER has a special place.
Dicken's places him in vivid light.
He was short for his age: with rather bow-legs, and little, sharp, ugly eyes. His hat was stuck on the top of his head so lightly, that it threatened to fall off every moment--and would have done so, very often, if the wearer had not had a knack of every now and then giving his head a sudden twitch, which brought it back to its old place again. He wore a man's coat, which reached nearly to his heels.

He leaves just about nothing to imagination. . He Exists.
The Dodger lives because he's chosen his ways. In the environment Dickens puts him in, the dodger has to blend in like a reptile. One honest act and the scarce supply of bread becomes even scarcer. Patronising with him is pretty hard after he leads poor Oliver astray. But, then its Oliver's story.
I often wonder how'd it be if things were written from his point of view. Under the guidence of Fagin, he'd have wasted away. A genius led astray.
Ah! I hate saying Fagin's name.... He's one of those evil Shadows that cast gloom from a distance. Fagin's s torments me. Evil at its Best .
The Dodger, is punished in the end but sill is a man with pride. He lives on even today ... on those special evenings or over the occasional smoke .