This teensy place is located on a forlorn part of the strip; you know, that stretch bridging New Vegas and Old Vegas that is adorned only by low-lying cheap T-shirt and souvenir warehouses...the part that reminds  you that you are in the bone dry desert.\n\nAs my friends and I (all of still us hungover at 4 p.m.) walked under the daze of the mid-afternoon sun, coffee seemed like a necessity and SexxPresso seemed like just the quirky (and indeed only) thing we needed.\n\nTittering, we perused a small wall of shabby nylon lingerie, patent leather (a.k.a. cheap vinyl) bondage gear, and glow-in-the-dark dildos before walking up to the counter, where a scruffy, middle-aged, not unobese guy in a yellowed white tee (or was it a wifebeater) greeted us. \n\nBemoaning the state of the economy and the prudence of Vegas tourists nowadays, he took our orders. Behind him, a hipless bottle blonde who looked like she was 12 years old (this is not to imply that the employees at this business are not of age; she just looked that way for sure) fumbled her way around the machinery, ultimately producing our steaming cups with downcast eyes and a flourish of limp synthetic lace.\n\nI forget the name of what I ordered, but I guarantee you that the title was unironically smutty. Back in the daylight, I took an awkward and slightly guilty gulp of cherry-infused mocha. There was nothing wrong with the temperature or the quality of it, but for some reason, I kept thinking about flavored lube and worrying that it was the secret ingredient. Right then, my cocky male coffee connoisseur friend, the only one who could have potentially enjoyed this whole scene, aptly expressed everyone's feelings - \"BLAAAAAGH! You CAN'T mix SEX with COFFEE, man...now all I feel like is that I'm drinking that 12-year-old girl's ASSSSS...tasting her ASSSSSS....\"\n\nWe walked the rest of the way in depressed silence and got our blood flowing with the Stratosphere rides instead. I want to wish this severely undervisited place luck, but unfortunately, a coffee-cum-sex-shop is not neither a turnon nor a picker-upper, especially not on the dead part of the Vegas strip.