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OF THE PEOPLE
ABOUT HALF AN HOUR INTO OUR CONVERSATION, Sally Rooney and I begin talking about the end of the world as we know it. But maybe it’s best to rewind a bit. When I arrive at the Library Bar, in Rooney’s adopted hometown of Dublin, the 28-year-old author is waiting for me in a low-slung reading chair, politely having chosen a spot next to a window and facing the entryway to avoid any possibility of us missing each other. The bar is unassuming, the kind of place Dubliners know about and tourists miss entirely.
